


Albus Potter and the Serpent's Son

by gmartinez12



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 19 years later, Harry Potter - Freeform, Hogwarts, I'm really going for realism here, M/M, but it will be in the future, not nsfw for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-13 14:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7979467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gmartinez12/pseuds/gmartinez12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, way back in 2011 when Deathly Hallows pt. II premiered, I was super excited to write a fanfic about Albus and Scorpius. There's so much awesomeness you can think of considering their rich histories with each other (their fathers I mean). I started like two chapters back then, but I never ended up continuing it cuz...well laziness i guess. But thanks to the help of my friends, I"ve started it up again, and with the benefit of better writing skills. </p><p>One thing I tried very hard to do was to make this a really writing-style driven work, using my own adaptation of J.K Rowling's style in the books. I did my best to be as true to canon as possible, and as true to the writing style as much as I could. I included original characters here and there, but I tried to make sure that they do not interfere with established canon.</p><p>And well, since I do plan for Al and Malfoy to get together in bed eventually, canon should prolly be the least of my worries XD </p><p>And yes, I know Cursed Child exists. No, I have not read it. I don't think I want to, cuz it'll suck to know that all I wrote is different from J.K. approved material. But whatever. Aside from cursed child, my stories are true to the original seven books.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Extraordinarily Ordinary

**Author's Note:**

> Oh and I have a cover pic.
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**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, First chapter! We pick up directly after the last scene from Deathly Hallows, which is Albus riding the Hogwarts Express. This is basically an intro to Albus, his life, and the writing style :p.

**Chapter I**

# Extraordinarily Ordinary

If only his speech-making abilities were as reassuring as his fame, Albus Severus Potter might have considered his father’s words believable.  
  
---  
  
Harry Potter was—is—a legend without peer. Known not only for killing the most dangerous dark wizard of all time, a certain Voldemort, he was—is—also the first person to have ever survived a killing curse. He was also known for his harrowing seven-year escapade to save the wizarding world while battling the evil forces of puberty . . . and dark wizards. Every magical entity in the world knew of Harry Potter and his heroic life. Indeed, if the non-magical people— or muggles, as wizards call them— knew about Harry’s adventures, he would no doubt be doing movies, stage plays and electoral campaigns for the position of President of Everything.

However, this was all that most people would ever know because they only knew what they read from history books and acclaimed author Dennis Creevy’s unofficial biography of Harry Potter. They knew so little, compared to what Albus knew of his father. And because Albus knew him so well, right now, the famous Harry Potter was just another face framed by the Hogwarts Express windows, oblivious to the abstract terror that lumped itself in Albus’ throat.

Of course, his father and mother had told him stories, and his brother, James had also contributed not-so-reassuring and probably-intentionally-demoralizing experiences about Hogwarts. But now, Albus realized that they had hardly told him anything. All they had ever spoken of were very general experiences or specific instances that only ever applied to them—fanciful recountings that were designed to sail over his head and leave behind a trail of awe. They’d never really talked about the more important things like, say, how to find a seat in the Hogwarts Express.

Albus could only describe the Hogwarts Express as a giant, mobile stick of dynamite. Red? Check. Cylindrical? Check. Explosive chemicals? Well, for all purposes intended, the hyperactivity of a hundred or so students and the deafening roar of the steam engine could very well be classified as an explosive. So, check.

Again, this was one dilemma his overly-famous father could not resolve with dramatic words. Sure, they—his brother James, his cousin Rose, and Albus himself—were all in one compartment so they could have a window to themselves as they waved one last time at their parents. However, as soon as he could, James left the compartment to sit with his friends. Rose did the same not long after, leaving Albus alone.

He couldn’t blame them, of course. James, being a second-year—and a highly influential and charismatic one at that—already had a cadre of followers to whom he owed his presence. Accordingly, the brothers had developed an unspoken agreement of not being seen together unless necessary. James had also intimated in vague terms that Albus was a liability to his relationships—an extra responsibility that he could not afford to dote on all the time. Albus understood and respected his brother’s wishes, but that was that. Rose, on the other hand—while also an incoming first-year like Albus—had the extreme good fortune of having wizard neighbours and friends in their hometown of Ottery-Saint Catchpole, and had peers that she knew in the train. Again, Albus couldn’t blame her. And he was totally not jealous. Definitely. Maybe.

Albus had learned early on that one of the reasons why the man known as Voldemort was evil was because he aggressively pursued wizard dominance over the muggles. Albus’ father, Harry, had the infinitely philanthropic—though to Albus, devastating—urge to set an example and live alongside muggles. Albus had grown up in a place called Sussex—a place which his brother had once remarked had a name he was not entirely certain sounded decent. He’d had friends there, of course—Frederick, Ethan, Josh—but they were muggles. Albus was resigned to a possible future where he no longer had them as friends because of his extensive absence while at Hogwarts. More importantly, knowing them did not help his current friendless situation.

Other drifting students found Albus’ compartment and requested permission to enter it—a request that, of course, could not be refused. It soon occurred to him that he was the stranger among the gaggle of friends that now occupied his cabin, so he then opted to find a cabin of his own where there were fewer already-acquainted people to sit with . . . or ideally, no one to sit with at all. He passed by Rose’s cabin on his search and was cordially invited to sit with her, but . . . Rose’s compartment only had girls in it. Albus had always felt uneasy towards girls in general—aside from Rose—and found it queer to be the sole boy in the group. He refused and went on.

Just when it seemed like he was destined to spend the remainder of the day squatting in the halls, a blond-haired head popped out of the nearest compartment and motioned for him to come in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, it's kind of a short chapter, same with the second chapter. But when I started continuing this, things got consistently...lengthier, so it's not much of a cliffhanger. I have 7 chapters currently ready for posting but I'll spread them out.


	2. A Kind Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus finally meets Scorpius Malfoy. What happens during this tense and awkward meeting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh and I have a cover pic.
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**Chapter II**

# A Kind Boy

 

Albus had never been a physically-inclined boy, and had never felt any fondness for sports. Try as his father might, Albus had never developed a liking for Quidditch, quite unlike his eager-beaver older brother. In fact, Albus hadn’t expected to be good at gobstones, or wizard chess or any sort of competition whatsoever, let alone a staring contest. The boy sitting across from him, though, was a natural.

He possessed silvery blond hair, slicked back in a manner that almost radiated haughty affluence. He was wearing clothes of unabashed extravagance, with a coat more befitting royalty . . . or at least it seemed that way because of its subtle yet elegant sheen. He also wore a scarf around his neck that looked as if it had been made of liquefied galleons. His inner tunic was a deep emerald hue, with what looked like an ornate ‘M’ woven through the front.

The boy’s hands looked soft and smooth and innocent from any hard labour. His face . . . it was pale yet not without color, pointed yet childishly rounded . . . with perhaps a hidden apprehension in his eyes, even sadness. Albus had all the time to examine every physical detail of the boy in front of him until he could look no more without feeling indecent. The other boy kept staring at him, as if his eyes were boring into Albus’ very soul. It didn’t help that all five minutes of their mutual stare-off was punctuated by awkward silence.

Albus was just about ready to stand up when the blond boy finally declared, “You can stay here if you want.”

Well, they _were_ both strangers to each other, and they _were_ alone in this compartment, so Albus decided that this cabin met his requirements for anonymity and solitude, and stayed in his seat. There was also the feeling that he’d seen this particular boy before, and he was curious to find out why he felt that way.

“You’re Albus Potter—Harry Potter’s son,” the boy suddenly blurted out.

“And you’re some blonde kid that I’m sharing this cabin with . . . whose father I _don’t_ know.”

It irked Albus whenever people referred to him as ‘Harry Potter’s son’. It was as if he’d never be identified as anything individual, and was instead merely a shadow trailing his father. This made him feel perfectly justified in lashing out at the boy, especially in a setting where there were no other witnesses to his brief lapse in courtesy.

“Fair enough. It must always annoy you. You know, your dad being famous and all.”

It occurred to Albus that this boy had expected his reaction, and was ready to humble himself for the sake of conversation. Odd, Albus thought, considering that the boy looked like he was naturally condescending.

“You have no idea,” Albus sighed in reply.

“Well, I do have _some_ idea of how it feels . . . my name is Scorpius _.”_

“Scorpius . . . ” Albus suddenly remembered what his uncle Ron had said to Rose at the station. “You’re Malfoy’s son.”

“Yes, and what of it?” Scorpius suddenly sounded as if he was challenging Albus to insult his father.

“N-nothing! Just that my uncle . . . ” He felt it was unnecessary to tell Scorpius the exact, unflattering words his uncle Ron had said, and instead added, “He mentioned your dad when we saw him at the station.”

An awkward silence followed. Scorpius seemed as though he was expecting more to Albus’ reply, but when no further words were offered, he made no attempt to probe further.

Albus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Of course, he knew of the history between his father and Draco Malfoy, Scorpius’ father—including the bitter enmity and rivalry that had existed between Malfoy and his father, Harry. What he remembered best, though, were the family stories of how Harry, Ron and Hermione—as well as the witches in wizards at Hogwarts— had conquered Voldemort. They had spared no expense in providing all of the details of the Malfoys’ treachery and betrayal, complicit in the acts of murder and subterfuge and all manner of insidious deeds. In these tellings of the tale, the Malfoys had been made out to be the ever-present villains in a grand fairy tale . . . except that all of it had been all-too-real.

 

      

Albus had always been a kind boy, and his father had said as much one night when Albus had questioned him about Malfoy’s reason for villainy.

 _“Why do you ask, Al?”_ Harry had replied.

_“Dad, you said that he was just a student—just like you were—and that he was in the castle with you guys just as much. So how could he be so bad if he was sharing the place with you guys? I mean, you aren’t evil like him . . . ”_

_“What do you think Malfoy was?”_

_“Well, he was evil, of course, because he did really horrible things to you and your friends and everyone else at Hogwarts. He was a Death Eater like his dad, and they did horrible things for Voldemort—just like you said.”_

_“Did I ever say it exactly like that?”_

“ _Well . . . that’s what I’d_ thought _you’d said,_ ” Albus had replied uncertainly.

“ _Perhaps that’s because it was how we’d made you_ to understand _it,”_ Harry had confessed as he’d sat on the bed beside his son. “ _But it’s not entirely correct.”_

_“What do you mean, Dad? He wasn’t bad?”_

_“Malfoy was forced to do most of the things he did,”_ Harry had explained _. “His parents had raised him to believe that doing those bad things was okay. He also didn’t really have any choice.”_

Albus hadn’t understood this sudden turnaround, so highly contrary to all that he had known.

Harry had then spoken carefully, choosing his words in a way that young Albus would understand. “ _Do you remember me telling you the story about how Professor Dumbledore died? I was there at the time, and I could see him there—Malfoy. He was nervous, and when he faced Dumbledore, admitted that if he didn’t do as Voldemort asked, he would be killed along with his family. He was forced and he was afraid. And when Dumbledore offered to help, he was lowering his wand when the Death Eaters came.”_

Albus had remained silent as his father had continued: “ _Your Uncle Ron also told you how we’d saved Malfoy from his own dark magic the night that we’d fought Voldemort, right? The way he told it, Ron had claimed that Malfoy owed us for saving him. But . . . I disagree.”_

 _“What?”_ Albus had gasped in confusion.

“ _Ron, Hermione and I had been caught by Death Eaters_ earlier, _and then brought to the Malfoy’s house because it was their headquarters. Had they known who it was that they’d captured, Voldemort would have been summoned, and then we would have been killed. But thanks to your Aunt Hermione’s quick thinking, she cast a spell that made it hard for them to recognize me right away._

 _“So they’d pulled in Draco to see if it was_ me, _since we'd been classmates and he’d definitely recognize me. I was the only one who saw him up close like that—he looked like he didn’t want to be there. He looked so afraid I thought he could cry if he were alone. He recognized me right away, I could tell. But there was something about the way he looked at_ me, _like there were a dozen things in his mind that were torturing him.  He lied to the Death Eaters. He said he wasn’t sure it was me. He denied to the end. He bought us enough time so that we eventually escaped. He didn’t even try hard to stop us when we got free. So I’d say, he saved us. We’re even.”_

Albus couldn’t simply accept all of this conflicting information. _“But, Dad—he was your enemy! How could you talk about him as if he was your friend? Why are you defending him?”_

 _“Al, very few people know this, but the very first time that we’d met, Malfoy had extended his hand in friendship to me. I’d declined, of course, knowing that we’d had very different beliefs. But to this day, I suspect that if our paths hadn’t been so different, we’d have become great friends.”_ Harry’s mouth had formed itself into a faint smile as he’d said this.

 _“But Dad, you’d told me yourself that he was evil_ ,” Albus had argued.

_“No, I never actually did. If you think back a little harder, you’ll remember that your aunt and uncle did most of the story-telling. Remember this, Al—as long there is an honest love inside of someone, they can never be wholly evil. Malfoy had loved his family, and had only done what he’d felt he needed to do.”_

_“Dad, why did you wait until_ now _to tell me this?”_ Albus had blurted in bewilderment. “ _Why not back when all three of you were first telling me?”_

“ _Because you are the only one who ever cared enough to have asked, and you are the only one, I think, who would believe me.”_

With that, Harry had left Albus that night to ponder the new things he alone had been privileged enough to hear. 

Scorpius’ voice then abruptly pulled Albus from his reverie.

“So, can I ask you a few things?”

“A few things about what?” Albus replied hesitantly.

“A few things about . . . what happened between our fathers?’”

Albus realized then that this was what Scorpius had intended to do the whole time—the reason _why_ he’d been invited into the cabin.

This was an interrogation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Please help me. I don't know how to let people know I'm talking about a flashback without blatantly saying "hey, this is a flashback". For now, I just did those spacers with ~ but there has to be a better way to do this.
> 
> Okay so, it's kind of a short chapter. But when I started continuing this, things got consistently...lengthier, so it's not much of a cliffhanger. I have 7 chapters currently ready for posting but I'll spread them out.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading my fic, and I do hope you'll enjoy it as we move along!
> 
> One thing I would like to encourage you all to do is to comment on this story especially if you see errors, typos or grammar mistakes! I just hate those! So please gimme a heads up if you see them! Also, I'd appreciate feedback on the story, and if you wanna see more stuff from me. 
> 
> Also, does AO3 have a private messaging system? I was just wondering :))


	3. My First Day at School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus writes to his father about the sorting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh and I have a cover pic.
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>  [](http://imgur.com/UqjvdIY)   
>    
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**Chapter III**

# My First Day at School

 

 

 

_Dear Dad,_

_You told me to write you when I got to Hogwarts, so okay—here it is. And there’s actually quite a lot to say._

_We got there alright, and went on the boats like you’d said. It was actually funny how the kids who’d never heard of Hogwarts reacted. It was like they were scared and amazed at the same time. Hagrid looked the same as he always did whenever we’d visited him over the summers, and explained to me that the lake crossing was really just to “make our eyes go wide.”_

_You told me that there’d be a lot of food, but I’d never imagined that there would be as much as there actually was. The feast was excellent—like the most amazing party that I could ever imagine, with all the food that I could possibly eat. I put a thank-you note on my plate just like Aunt ‘Mione said we should. Rose did, too. I’m not sure if James bothered._

_Headmistress McGonagall looked really old. I know you told me that witches and wizards mostly live longer than muggles, but it’s still amazing. I would have liked to have met Professor Dumbledore, since you used to say that he looked older than time itself. I could try asking Headmistress McGonagall how old she is, but somehow, I feel like that might get me in detention._

_She did say something exciting in her speech, though. She mentioned how Hogwarts is “striving to move towards a future where we can learn together with our non-magical brothers and sisters”. There were a few groups from each table cheering like mad when she said that. I bet Grandpa Arthur would have cheered, too._

_If I understood her properly, that’d mean I might get to use my phone here someday! Maybe they’d start letting us use our other muggle stuff, too! Then I could just send you letters like this in an instant on my phone. No offense to Ludwig—he’s a fine owl—but I’d rather that my letters not depend on something that has a sharp beak and gets temperamental when you forget to feed it._

_Right, if I’m talking about the feast, the sorting should’ve been done, yeah? Well, I just wanted to save it so I could surprise you. But no real surprises there. I’m in Gryffindor, and so is Rose. But . . . it was weird. I really don’t know how to say it but . . ._

_You told me that I could choose where to go if I wasn’t sure, that the hat would ask me. It did. But you said it made you choose only between Griffindor and Slytherin, just the two of those. Well . . . it asked me where I wanted to go. It didn’t even tell me where it thinks I should go. I asked it where I should and it said . . ._ anywhere _is fine._

_I think I remember exactly what it told me…it’s kinda easy to remember since it all rhymed:_

_“Wee Potter, a curious one like your father, aren’t you? It seems that you too are a seeker of what is good and true. You are an heir to such a colourful history. You already know that ‘to understand’ is the real mystery._

_“Inside you, there is a proud lion that honours its den, then there flies a cunning raven whose eyes seek everything beyond its ken. There is a gentle badger who kneels in earnest humility, and there slinks a defiant serpent who seeks release from name and family._

_“Who are you and where will you go? I am not the one to make your destiny so. Over the years I’ve come to see, you will be the one who decides who you need to be.”_

_I think know what it meant—that I could be in any of the houses. I’m starting to wonder if it does this for anyone else, or at least if it happened to James. I saw him looking at me crossly when I was wearing the hat. Maybe he thinks that I took too long. Anyway, I finally went with Gryffindor, so that I’d know at least some of the people there. There’s always Rose, and Louis. And Victoire too. And. well . . . there’s James. No, he hasn’t said anything mean all day._

_One last thing—you told me to make friends as soon as I could. I already met some of the other Griffindor first-years, and they seem like an okay bunch. I’ll write about them some other time after we’ve gotten to know each other better. There’s also one other boy I’ve met, and I think you know him already—Scorpius Malfoy._

_I met him on the Hogwarts Express. It was really awkward, but you probably knew that. He asked me about you and about the things that you did with his dad. I guess his dad didn’t tell him much, so I told him the truth—everything that you told me._

_At first, he just looked at me and listened. Then he finally asked me: “Do you think that my father is evil?”_

_“I don’t know,” I admitted. “How about you, what do you think of him?”_

_Scorpius just shrugged and said, “He’s my father.”_

_He kept glancing my way the whole time that we were lined up for the sorting. His name was called out soon after mine, and a lot of people started to whisper. Everyone looked at him, some with strange looks on their faces. One boy even looked like he was about to throw something at Scorpius, and that got him a sharp rap on the head from a prefect._

_Like me, Scorpius also took a long time at the hat, and finally went to Slytherin. It seemed weird, though, the way it happened. Everyone was quiet. No one really clapped. And nobody moved over to give him space on the Slytherin table, so he just sat at the furthest end near the door._

_I kinda felt sorry for him, because I think I know why so many people had been whispering so loudly at the time. Aunt ‘Mione and Uncle Ron, and maybe all the other aunts and uncles and brothers and mothers of the people here, I reckon they all told the same stories. I heard an older boy near me whisper it loudly enough for me to hear: ‘Malfoy, the family of traitors’._

_Because of the things that you’d told me about Malfoy, I knew they weren’t truly traitors. But I think I was the only one who felt that way, and it made me feel…sad. Scorpius was just sitting there in his lonely seat at the end of the table, awkwardly staring at his goblet. It felt painful—being the only one who knew Draco Malfoy’s real story._

_Right then, I found myself almost wishing that you’d never told me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maximum effort with this one! I wanted to be creative, and I made an entire rhyming sorting hat song! F*ck! 
> 
> And then suddenly I realize how stupid it is when you think about it that the Sorting Hat suddenly decides this is a good time to advocate house equality. Crap. Someone shoot me.
> 
> Anyway, I'm running with this XD I hope it's still palatable to you guys. Next chapters get more interesting, and I'll start to introduce OCs too, like Albus' friends and teachers and stuff. Should be cool. 
> 
> So, did you guys like the cover pic? :p
> 
> Also, I hope you also appreciate the little easter eggs i put in every now and then. If you still remember the little details of the books, (like, how Hermione is all about house elf rights) you'll prolly get a kick out of em :)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading my fic, and I do hope you'll enjoy it as we move along!
> 
> One thing I would like to encourage you all to do is to comment on this story especially if you see errors, typos or grammar mistakes! I just hate those! So please gimme a heads up if you see them! Also, I'd appreciate feedback on the story, and if you wanna see more stuff from me.


	4. A Day in the Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus goes through the first day of classes at Hogwarts, and meets new friends and teachers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh and I have a cover pic.
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>  [](http://imgur.com/UqjvdIY)   
>    
> 

**Chapter IV**

# A Day in the Life

 

Albus could see it in their eyes—he could clearly tell who among his classmates were muggle-born, judging from how nervous they all looked in their first-ever class in Hogwarts. The rest were either excited, bored, sleepy, or all three. Having grown up in a wizarding household—albeit in a non-magical community—Albus was already quite accustomed to the weirdness and wonder of magic.

However, that did not prepare him at all for the bear.

 _“Gaaah!”_ Albus screamed. Though . . . had he really actually _screamed,_ he wondered? Possibly he’d just misheard himself, and the high-pitched wail that he’d heard had been someone else’s. Granted, almost the entire class had also screamed in terror upon seeing a huge, brown grizzly bear suddenly bound through the doorway, roaring fearsomely as it approached the front desk. But even so, Albus decided that perhaps he should practice a more masculine way of expressing his shock—if his older brother James had heard him, he’d certainly be teased for sounding a little like their sister Lily. Or actually, he admitted to himself, sounding a _lot_ like their sister Lily.

In seconds, the bear wiggled himself down onto the large, ornately carved chair at the front of the classroom. Albus was almost tempted to laugh at the comical sight of a bear sitting on a chair, but before he could react, the bear quickly morphed into a portly, stern-faced man. He had the air of a dignified gentleman, and his immaculate robes gave him an even more respectable aura. He was sporting a monocle that appeared somewhat out of place on his deeply-lined face, but it strangely seemed like an oddly appropriate pairing with the white trimmed beard that he seemed to enjoy stroking.

“ _Animagi,_ ” the man began, “are wizards who have the ability to transform into an animal of their choosing. It is one of the most complicated forms of transfiguration known to wizards, and only a few have ever been known to have mastered it. So few, in fact, that the ministry of magic’s registry of animagi is only a foot-long parchment.”

Albus just stared at him, along with all of his other dumbfounded classmates. Neither his father nor mother—nor any of his other relatives—had ever shown this ability.

“Well? Why aren’t you writing this down?” the man demanded. He took out his wand and pointed it at a round-faced boy near the back of the class. The boy was holding a half-eaten sandwich that he had completely forgotten about in the wake of the man’s dramatic ursine-entrance. With a simple flick of the wand, the sandwich turned into a scroll of parchment. The boy seemed thoroughly taken aback, and dropped the parchment as though it had suddenly become a deadly serpent.

“Parchments out, all of you. Transfiguration is the most difficult school of magic you’ll learn here in Hogwarts, and it is my duty to ensure that you will learn it by any means necessary. Otherwise—” he then gestured towards a large cabinet whose shelves housed what seemed like several statuettes “—you’ll be giving me another reason to add more figures to my collection.”

“Sir, you’re not seriously going to transfigure us into statues . . . _are_ you?” asked a scared girl, her voice trembling noticeably.

“Well, there _is_ a precedent here for transfiguration being used as punishment, or so I’ve been told. Turning students into flying ferrets, among other things . . . ”

As he spoke, he was watching the girl intently, and upon seeing her visibly wither, he guffawed heartily.

“You should have seen the look in your face, girl! Just see that you do not disappoint me, and you will be fine. I have been a teacher at Hogwarts for ten years and I’ve only added to my collection once . . . ”

The class suddenly eyed the cabinet warily. Was there _really_ a student in one of those statuettes?

“ . . . and in that case, the addition was a gift from one of the outgoing seventh-years a couple of years back.” He eyed the nervous class as he chuckled to himself again.

“Discipline is what you need to learn the finer points of transfiguration. If you can’t even discipline yourselves, then you have no hope of ever learning magic. In fact, count yourselves lucky that you even have this opportunity to learn magic. I’ve seen muggle students who would likely make better wizards and witches than the lot of you, judging by the study habits of students here . . . or the woeful lack thereof.”

Albus found it odd how their transfiguration professor had so casually compared them to muggles. Not that he felt actually offended, but rather because he didn’t know that it was a comparison wizards regularly did.

“If I had the opportunity,” the man continued, “I’d teach muggle students everything that there is to know about transfiguration. No doubt they’d have more practical uses for it than you boys and girls, who so blithely take magic for granted. Of course, the young muggles can’t actually _use_ magic, but even so . . .

“What you need to understand is that transfiguration is the magic of _change._ To transform, transfigure, evolve, and improve. Your mind must be open to the flow of change in the world.”

The man then took a porcelain flower vase from the windowsill and threw it up into the air. With a casual flick of his hand, a stream of red light erupted from his wand and shattered the vase as it fell. The class scrambled to avoid the falling shards.

“You need to accept that change is often for the better,” he explained.

Then, without pausing, he flicked his wand once more, turning every shard of the vase into a soft, white feather. The students who hadn’t taken refuge under their desks reached out to grab some of them.

Albus held a single feather in his hand, trying to fathom exactly what this old man was trying to say. The lesson about change seemed less about transfiguration and more about something else entirely.

“Right. My name is Thorne Whitby, your transfiguration professor for the coming years,” he told them quite nonchalantly . . . as if he hadn’t just exploded a vase over a crowded classroom. Eyeing the startled students carefully, he continued, “I understand we have another Potter this year? If true, please stand up.”

Albus rose uneasily from his seat, fully aware of all the eyes that were now locked intently in his direction.

“You are the second one, yes? _Albus_ , if I’m not mistaken?”

“Yes, professor.”

“Boys and girls, take a good look at young Albus. Transfiguration is not merely a school of magic—it is also a way of thinking. Albus’ father is a true advocate of change. Did you know that Harry Potter is one of the leading voices in the Ministry that’s pioneering muggle cooperation today? What he’s doing is not magic, but it is transfiguration nonetheless. He is changing the wizarding world as we speak.”

Albus felt increasingly uncomfortable as he stood, fully aware of the fact he’d been singled out for the sole purpose of enabling his professor to make mention of the much-more-famous member of the Potter family. It was a situation that Albus always felt discomforted by, and one that he’d experienced all too often in his life.

“No doubt your father’s favourite subject was transfiguration, yes?” Professor Whitby asked expectantly.

“Well, he . . . ”

Albus sincerely wished that he could say ‘yes’ . . . but that would have been an outright lie. No, transfiguration definitely _hadn’t_ been his father’s forte. Not by a long shot. In fact, Harry himself had mentioned a couple of times how the subject had been his second-worst, topped only by Potions. Knowing that, Albus could only fidget awkwardly as he tried to think of the least-offensive possible response.

“He does hold Headmistress McGonagall in high regard, sir,” Albus finally managed to say.

“Of course he does! Had I met the man, no doubt we’d be the best of friends. We were both Gryffindor, of course. What a shame that I was his senior by seven years . . .

“In conclusion, then, let me express my sincere hope that we will all have a splendid time in this class. Just keep in mind what I told you about being open to change.”

Professor Whitby then waved his wand, instantly gathering together all of the feathers. And a brief second later, they transformed back to being a vase once more, whole and unbroken.

 

***

 

“Please be seated now, class. We’ll start in a minute,” announced the woman who was standing in the front of the room. The room itself was filled with the clatter and shuffling of chairs, books, and cauldrons. All of the students in Albus’ class were initially wary of their new second-period teacher, after their harrowing experience with their first transfiguration class. Albus readied his things while wondering what sort of crazy, magical impression this class would be making.

It was their first-ever Potions class, and though his brother James had dismissed the class as ‘a piece of cake with cherry pops’, Albus was more inclined to remember his father’s tales of dread and misery. Granted, they had a new, different professor than the one that his father had suffered under. At the very least,  her calming demeanour was quite unlike Albus’ other namesake, whom his father had once remarked to be ‘thoroughly unlikable’ before they were made aware of the man’s secretly-heroic nature.

“Good morning to all of you. My name is Constance Merryweather, and I shall be your Potions professor for this term and beyond. I do hope we get along swimmingly.”

 Despite his initial reservations, Albus had to admit that this professor was a lot nicer and a lot more agreeable than Professor Whitby. Professor Merryweather had a serene aura about her, as though each graceful flip of her hair would spontaneously cause flowers to bloom and rainbows to form behind her. This was ironic considering that their classroom was a dreary dungeon, but her presence seemed to negate the dungeon’s normally oppressive atmosphere. Albus’ fellow Gryffindors seemed to agree—the boys more so than the girls, judging from the way that they all gawked at her.

“The prof sure is something, eh? You’re Potter, right?” asked the boy seated beside Albus.

“Uh, yeah . . . and you’re right about our prof. She’s loads better than Whitby at any rate,” Albus replied with a questioning glance at the boy.

“I’m Thomas—Thomas C. Norum—and yeah, she really is. Say, Whitby really took the mickey out of you, din’ he? I suppose everyone knows you now, what with him painting a bulls-eye on you an’ all that. At least saves you from all them introductions, yeah?” continued the strawberry blonde boy, all the while giving Albus an unsolicited handshake. His eyes were focused on Professor Merryweather, and followed her as she walked to the middle of the class . . . until he found himself inadvertently staring at her as she loomed above him and Albus.

“Boys, now, now—please save your breath for later. I still have much to tell you and it’ll be better for you to pay attention.” Professor Merryweather then affectionately ruffled both Albus’ and Thomas’ hair before going back to the front desk. Albus found it odd how much of a gentle admonishment that was, far different from his mother’s own, whose fiery red hair seemed to emulate flames when she got angry. Beside him, Thomas was also fiery red, though in this case, it was the color of his cheeks.

“Potions is a delicate subject,” Professor Merryweather began. ”Potions are the magical extensions of trust and faith. Every healer that you’ve ever known is an accomplished potioneer. People depend on potions for succour and respite—quite reliable as panaceas, and quite unlike spells that might fail. Potions are what wizardkind discovered when they trusted nature and her gifts for guidance, instead of relying solely on magic.

“To be a potioneer is to either be a steward of trust, a peddler of trust, or a deceiver of trust. Potions are always intimate. Every ingredient is added intentionally, and every flask is given deliberately. You may still be children, but I hope you understand that a potion holds within it a man’s salvation, or a man’s damnation.”

Professor Merryweather still managed to sound very much like a mother comforting her child during a storm, despite having just given everyone disturbing mental images of a man drinking a potion and then bursting into flames. The class had been deathly silent whether—from genuine interest or the woman’s maternal tone, or the burn-a-person-alive potion in their imagination, Albus couldn’t say for sure.

“It is true that potions can be difficult, but they need not be so. You see, I have trained extensively in the potioneering principles that were pioneered by the Half-Blood Prince, and his techniques have allowed us to make the subject of Potions more accessible to more wizards everywhere. Rest assured, I will teach you in the same way that his teachings helped changed the field of potions as we know it now.”

Albus knew perfectly well what Professor Merryweather was talking about. Sometime after their schooling, his father and Aunt Hermione had gathered whatever knowledge they could about the techniques that their old mentor, Severus Snape, had invented as the so-called ‘Halfblood Prince’.

Albus remembered his father saying that it used to be a source of contention between himself and Hermione, but even she begrudgingly agreed that the wizarding world would benefit from this knowledge going public. _The Halfblood Prince’s Guide to Potions_ was eventually published, and it gathered a wildly popular if controversial following. To this day, leading potioneers discredit the book for being unorthodox, but every year it garnered more supporters, even from the ranks of the elite.

Professor Merryweather was obviously taken with the book, so Albus resolved to never tell her that he was named after its inspiration. He rather thought that his earlier encounter with Professor Whitby was more than enough time in the spotlight. More than enough for an entire semester, even.

They were briefly told the basic mechanics of brewing potions, from stirring to brewing and heating, among other tasks. Professor Merryweather then gave each student four basic potion ingredients, explaining briefly their properties, and then instructing them to brew a potion based on what they knew so far.

“Feel free to experiment with your potion,” the professor encouraged them. “Since those are the most basic of ingredients, there is no possible combination that can result in anything particularly unpleasant. The worst mixtures will only be malodorous—or possibly cause moss to grow on your skin—but nothing else. I’ve tried out every combination myself, so you can take my word for it.”

For the next hour, all the first-years were busy trying to brew their first-ever potion, eager to impress their professor, their peers, or both. Albus was actually beginning to enjoy himself, since he’d never really experienced making one before at home, and his father wasn’t skilled enough to teach him anything about it. To his left, Thomas was also busily chopping ingredients and flipping through his book.

“Say, uh . . . ”

“Al. ”

“Yeah, Al. What would you think I should do with the rat tail? Slice it, or just put the whole thing in? It’s kinda the same either way, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s better if you slice first, ’cuz it says here on page ten that you have to measure the ingredients first and only put in specific amounts, even if you’d eventually put the whole thing in.”

“Why do you think that is, though?” Thomas asked Albus.

Albus merely shrugged, and Thomas shrugged in agreement.

A while later, Professor Merryweather rang a small bell, signalling the end of the activity. The whole room was filled with billowing smoke and strange smells from every cauldron, and the professor made sure to ask each and every student what they intended to make, and then explained to them why what they’d actually made fell short of their goal. After assessing each student, she used her wand to clean and empty their cauldrons, decreasing the haze with each student that she passed.

“And you, my dear—what were _you_ making?” the professor asked Albus when it was his turn.

“Well, professor, because the book said that heated doxie eggs evaporate into a dense cloud, and snargaluff juice lessens the weight of the mixture, and stirring it makes it firmer, I’d thought that mixing those things would make a floating cloud,” Albus explained, pointing at a solid lump of a cloud-shaped mass on his table. Unfortunately, it was most definitely _not_ floating.

“Ah, yes, well said!” Professor Merryweather exclaimed with approval. “Your theory is correct, but it seems you were too cautious, my dear. You should have heated it much more. Still, it was a good effort. Your explanation was the best I’ve heard all day.”

Albus allowed himself a little bit of pride and smiled. It was the first time that anyone had praised him without knowing his name first.

Next to him, Thomas garnered some praise for himself as well. It seemed that his attempts at a potion had failed miserably, and the contents had curdled into a red mass of indeterminate shape. Rather than giving up, though, Thomas had taken the hard mass and sculpted it into a figure that looked uncannily like the Gryffindor Lion.

“Bravo!” Professor Merryweather told Thomas with a beaming smile. “Very creative of you! Failure should not stop you from thinking of ways to make your effort meaningful. Take five points for Gryffindor!”

Thomas gave Albus a wink and a nudge, and Albus responded with a congratulatory grin.

Finally the professor reached the last cauldron, and turned to ask the boy behind it about his work. It was only then that Albus noticed the boy’s slicked-back hair, pointed face, and childishly-rounded cheeks. It was the boy that he’d met on the train—Scorpius Malfoy—and Albus hadn’t even noticed him there before. And as Albus looked around properly, he saw that half the class were wearing robes with emerald and silver highlights. He was apparently sharing his Potions class with the Slytherins. Albus made a mental note not to be so oblivious in the future.

“My, what’s that wonderful smell . . . ?” Professor Merryweather exclaimed. Now that Malfoy’s cauldron was the only one that was lit, the whole room could smell the aroma wafting out from the potion within. Albus thought he caught the scent of lavender, though he’d never thought that lavender could make him feel so calm and happy inside.

“A basic fragrance poultice—and a potent one at that!” the professor noted, clearly elated at Malfoy’s work. “They’re potions that are meant to spread an aroma in an area, and invigorate the physical senses of those who smell it, giving them a feeling of peace and contentment. A very simple potion and indeed one of the many possible combinations with the ingredients I gave you, but still . . . how did you manage it?”

“It’s just something that my mother taught me,” Malfoy replied flatly with half a shrug. “I just have to make sure to boil everything the same way. I’d always make one whenever things got too quiet in our mansion, especially when everyone was already home. They don’t really admit it, but I still know that they like it.”

Professor Merryweather seemed deeply moved by Malfoy’s words, and Albus had an inkling why. To her—a person who believed that potion-giving was sacrosanct—Malfoy’s potion almost seemed like a noble sacrifice. It was a potion that would never be asked for and never given, but by its mere presence it offered happiness to all those around it.

“Marvelous work, dear boy! I’d say that you deserve twenty points for Slytherin, don’t you think?” remarked the professor. The Slytherins didn’t say if they agreed, while the Gryffindors glowered at Malfoy, as if offended that he’d earned any points at all.

Albus, for his part, thought that Malfoy deserved a whole lot more.

  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I still get confused with using AO3's chapter notes thing. For some reason, I have 2 chapter notes sometimes. Eh. :/
> 
> Hope you still like it so far. I got big plans ahead but I'm just hoping I could do it all XD


	5. The Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his first morning classes, Albus has a very complicated and heated encounter with Scorpius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh and I have a cover pic.
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>  [](http://imgur.com/UqjvdIY)   
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**Chapter V**

# The Son

 

“This chicken is excellent!” Thomas declared, licking his fingers with evident relish.

“Reminds me of home, to be honest,” Albus replied. “My grandmother cooks so good that it makes me wonder if she just magics it from thin air. Food this good shouldn’t be possible.”

The pair was currently enjoying lunch in the great hall, tired and hungry after their morning classes.

“You can’t just magic food out of nothing—“

“Yeah, yeah I know. It’s the exception to Gamp’s law of . . . something. My aunt makes it a point to remind us of that every now and then.”

“It must be wicked awesome, though—living with your family,” Thomas continued, enthusiastically gulping down his pumpkin juice. “I mean, c’mon! Heroes of the wizarding world? _The_ Harry Potter? I’d eat a flobberworm just to get an autograph from him . . . ”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I could sign your forehead. Since I’m half-Potter, that technically makes my autograph worth half as much as my dad’s. And then you’d only need to eat half a flobberworm.”

“You’re a kidder, aren’t ya, Al?” Thomas jovially replied as Albus gave him a silly grin. “But really, though—what’s it like?”

“It’s not really as different as you seem to think,” Albus said nonchalantly while idly poking through his leftover vegetables. “Dad leaves in the morning and comes back at night. My mom leaves whenever there’s a story for the _Prophet_ that she needs to cover. Sometimes dad doesn’t come home for a couple of days, and when he does, he’s got a new scar somewhere. Mom throws a fit when that happens, especially the time he got that cut on his cheek. It’s still there.”

“But c’mon, your dad is the head of the auror office! He’s had to have shown you some cool stuff, right?”

“Well . . . ”

Harry Potter ensured that he was not remiss in his fatherly duties. As a wizarding parent, Harry had chosen an approach that suited his profession as a hunter of dark wizards. Albus clearly remembered the first bit of magic that he had learned from his father the summer before his brother James had started at Hogwarts—the shield charm. Albus didn’t learn it only because his father taught it to him—he also needed to learn it out of necessity.

 

~***

_~_

_“Ready? One, two, go!”_

“Expellarmius!”

_“No, you said it wrong!’”_

_Albus knew there was something disconcerting about his brother James’ overly-enthusiastic attitude. They were being taught the disarming spell, Expelliarmus. Their father was particularly fond of that spell, claiming that it was the one that had saved the wizarding world, and was thus an apt self-defence spell to teach to his children._

“Ow! That kinda stung!” _Albus said, rubbing the spot on his arm where the errant spell had hit._

_“Okay, see, if you say it too fast, you’ll eat your words, and all it does is sting your brother a bit,” Harry said to James after inspecting Albus’ arm._

_“Oh, sorry, Dad—“_

_“—you should apologise to your bro—“_

“—Expelarmius!”

“Gah!” _This time, James’ spell had hit Albus square on the chest, knocking him back slightly, as if someone had punched him. The pain felt like somebody punched him, too._

_“Oh, sorry, Al. I’ll get it right next time!” James said with a devious grin._

_“Dad, I think James is fubbing it on purpose . . . ” Albus whispered to his father, who had come to his side once more._

_“Well, he’s having a bit of fun, isn’t he? Tell you what, Al. The next time he shoots, quickly imagine a wall. Think of a big, magic wall that can protect you from getting hit again. Then, say ‘protego’. Shield Charm. Should be a surprise for him.” Harry then went back to the side, leaving Albus with barely a wink._

_“Ready, you two? James? Ex-pe-lee-arr-muss, alright? Go!”_

_“Expellimarmus!”_

“PROTEGO!” _Albus shouted with all his might, pointing his borrowed wand straight forward. He imagined a wall like his father said, but in his mind, that wall was a large hand. The hand would swat the painful spell away, and stop him from hurting anymore. It would keep him safe. Just before the mangled disarming spell hit him, a luminous yellow wall appeared for a split-second, nearly twice Albus’ height, meeting the red glowing light of James’ spell head on._

“Duck!” _Harry had run to Albus and dived, forcing the boy down. The shield charm did indeed swat the opposing spell away, but also had the effect of making it ricochet off everything in the vicinity._

“Bloody hell!” _Harry swore as the spell hit an empty pail and bounced at an angle, almost hitting him._

“Watch out!” _James shouted as the red light hit the still-smoking grill and missed his ear by mere inches._

“Dad!”

_The ricochet made for Harry again, but he dodged quite easily, his honed reflexes too quick for the spell. Instead, it hit the window that was behind him, shooting through and shattering it. The spell sounded like it hit a couple more times inside before it dissipated._

_Both the boys stared at their father, who looked white as a sheet. A moment later, they heard the shrill, especially loud howls of the furies themselves—their mother Ginny and grandmother Molly._

HARRY POTTER!

_The boys quickly deposited their borrowed wands in their father’s pocket, seeing as his hands—and body—were petrified in place. Both of them scarpered away from the scene, choosing to hide in an especially large rhododendron a few yards away._

_“What the heck did you just do?” demanded James._

_“I—I just did a shield charm! You kept hitting me and it hurt and dad said—“_

_“Whatever, Al. You’ve really done it this time.” James said, turning his attention toward where they left their father. Albus was about to argue but then he heard the sounds of an increasingly agitated, though amusing, conversation his father was having with the Weasley women._

“I TURN MY BACK FOR ONE SECOND TO HELP MY MOTHER IN THE KITCHEN AND THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS?!”

_“No, wait! I was just trying to teach the boys basic defence spells and—“_

_“Is that my_ WAND _in your pocket?”_

_“Well, I . . . ”_

“YOU LET THEM USE MY WAND WITHOUT EVEN TELLING ME?”

 

~

***

“Al?”

“ . . . huh?”

“Alby, snap out of it!” Thomas said worriedly, literally snapping his fingers in front of Albus.

“Right, er, sorry. I just . . . remembered something,” Albus mumbled after regaining his composure, though with a visible redness in his cheeks.

“I just asked what your dad taught you and you space out on me? Was it really that awesome?”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“You look like you need some air. I reckon I do, too. Come on, then—let’s walk the grounds,” Thomas said as he bid Albus to follow.

Both boys went out of the castle and onto the rolling, grassy plains of Hogwarts. It was still as picturesque as the postcards that featured it, and on that fine day, there were only enough clouds to occasionally block the bright sunlight, making for a perfectly sunny and breezy afternoon. They found a tree a few yards from the lake, and settled in its shade.

“So, what about you? What’s your family like?” Albus casually asked Thomas.

“I’m adopted. It’s no probs, though. My dads found me at the center when I was five, when they realized I was magic. They’re wicked cool, my dads,” Thomas exclaimed proudly. “Dad is quite famous in his own way. Not really like your dad but they’re kinda related. Dad was ‘DA’ too, you know.”

“Whoa, really?” Al started recalling all the members of his dad’s old resistance movement, ‘Dumbledore’s Army’, or at least the ones he could remember. He was stuck after counting three fingers. “Any more clues?”

Thomas sighed and playfully rolled his eyes. He then began spouting facts as if taken straight from a textbook, in a reverent tone not unlike a museum curator: “At age 11, Harry James Potter was the youngest seeker of the Hogwarts Gryffindor Quidditch Team in 500 years.

“He was also the first wizard to have wielded the sword of Godric Gryffindor in recent history. He was also a _parselmouth_ , being able to talk to snakes due to his being an unwitting vessel for a part of the dark lord Voldemort’s soul. It is a little-known fact that Harry had used the disarming charm to finally defeat Voldemort and end the second wizarding war. “

It didn’t take Albus long to realize where Thomas had gotten his facts. They were little intimate details of his father’s life, known only to a select few—details that the general public wouldn’t necessarily know. And only one person had ever published anything that revealed them—

“—acclaimed author Dennis Creevey, the man behind the unofficial biography of Harry Potter,” Albus said out loud, reciting the radio and print ad advertisement that had stormed the wizarding world a few years earlier. Everyone had lined up to get a copy of the book on its release, that, while unofficial—because Harry had refused to verify it, reasoning that fame is overrated—became the definitive tome on the life of the legendary Chosen One.

“Yep! My dad,” Thomas beamed.

“No wonder you know so much. I heard that Mr. Creevey was right big fan of my dad. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I thought you’d be named after him.”

“You din’ ask me about my middle name,” Thomas said with a slight smile. “I only had my first name at the center, so when my dads took me, I got their names. Dad’s is my middle and my Papp, he’s my surname.”

“Your Papp, huh,” Albus replied thoughtfully. ”So what’s Mr. Norum do?”

“My Papp’s work is something ‘unspeakable’!” Thomas said with a slight giggle.

“Unspea—er . . . what? Wait . . . oh. Ohhhhh. Right.” Albus finally understood that Thomas meant his Papp was working as one of the Ministry’s Unspeakables—wizards tasked with researching and plumbing the depths of known magic in pursuit of an unknown goal.

“He’s brilliant with transfiguration, and he says that’s part of the secret things he does there. Oh, but he says that he’ll teach me what he can when I’m ready. Isn’t it wicked? Secret magic that only he knows, and I’m going to learn it!”

“Good on you, mate!” Albus cheered with utmost sincerity. And perhaps, with a little twinge of jealously.

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Albus saw a girl and a boy heading out to the lake. Both of them were Slytherin, judging from their robes, and Albus recognized both of them. One was his cousin Dominique, and the other was none other than Scorpius Malfoy. The two of them seemed to have a rather heated conversation. After a while, Dominique walked away, heading back towards the castle.

“Don’t look now, Alby. It’s ‘Mr. Twenty-Points’,” Thomas said sarcastically.

“Thomas, excuse me for a bit.” Albus hastily left his friend as he jogged to keep up with his older cousin.

“Wait, what are you up to?” Thomas asked, but Albus was already hurrying away.

Albus barely caught up to Dominique, and tugged at her robes to indicate his presence, too short out of breath for a proper greeting.

“Goodness! Al, I didn’t notice you were there!” remarked Dominique when she suddenly saw Albus panting at her side.

“Hi, Domi,” Albus managed to say between lungfuls of air.

“It’s been a while since I’ve last seen you. I saw you at the sorting. I forgot to greet you on your first day, sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m good. What was that all about at the lake?

“Oh, him. Scorpius. Might be a familiar name for you, seeing as he’s a Malfoy. You can imagine how hard it’s been for him since he got here,” Dominique said, wearing a rather sad look on her face.

“Well, I get the impression he’s having a hard time making friends,” replied Albus.

“He’s not making it any easier for himself, I’ll say.”

“What do you mean? I thought he’d be at home in Slytherin.” Albus had hoped that Dominique knew why even the Slytherins didn’t seem to like Malfoy.

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” Dominique began with a grimace. “Slytherin house has been hard at work trying to restore its image these past years. I know that very well, being part of the S.U.C.S.”

“The sucks . . . ?”

“No, Al, S.U.C.S., School Unity Committee for Slytherin. We’re the club that’s trying to give the house a new face. Or at least we want people to stop thinking of us as the house of dark wizards. Thing is, Slytherins are tired of being seen as the enemy. The Malfoy boy brings up too many bad memories and prejudices, especially from the older students.”

“It’s only his first day here. He hasn’t done anything wrong!” Albus adamantly professed.

“I know that. But he has the misfortune of having a name that everyone was taught to mistrust. I thought I’d do him a good turn and invite him over with some friends but . . . he’s stubborn, that one. And proud,” Dominique said wistfully, looking back at Malfoy’s direction. “At this rate, no one will want to be his friend."

“What if _I_ talk to him?” Albus asked, his empathy evident in his voice.

Dominique looked into Albus’ green eyes—the boy looked determined.

“So young . . . and so naïve, little cousin,” she said as she shook her head. “By all means try, but don’t get your hopes up. Until he drops the attitude, no one’s gonna get to him.” Dominique then gave Albus an affectionate pat on the head and walked away.

Albus thought for a moment before he finally decided. He needed to talk to Malfoy. Albus didn’t know if he was doing the right thing. All he knew was that he wanted to do something— _anything_ —to get a certain feeling out of his chest.

It was the same nagging feeling that he’d get whenever he saw James sneaking biscuits from the cupboard even when he knew he wasn’t supposed to. It was the feeling that he’d gotten the time that his father had come home bruised and unconscious, and the ministry fellows that his father had been with made him swear to never tell his mother. It was the feeling of knowing that something was terribly wrong.

“What do you want, Albert?” Malfoy asked rather acidly, when Albus approached him. The former still had his back turned to Albus, facing the lake. He picked up a small, smooth stone near the shore and threw it, intending to make it skip across the water. Instead, it sank on contact.

“It’s actually Albus. I . . . I just wanted to congratulate you on getting those twenty points. That potion was really something.” Albus was starting to get nervous. He hadn’t really thought about what to say to Malfoy.

“Don’t pretend. You might as well mock me to my face. Everyone thinks I’m sucking up to Merryweather. Or that I cheated somehow.”

Albus thought there was a hint of frustration in Malfoy’s voice, but he couldn’t be sure, since Malfoy still wouldn’t face him.

“Why would I?” Albus asked, raising his voice slightly. He was starting to see what Dominique had meant about Malfoy being ‘stubborn’.

“Because of my _name!_ I’d have thought that you of all people would know that, Potter!” Malfoy angrily replied. He was almost shouting now.

“Will you just calm down? I know that some people think that your family is no good, and I know that it’s not true. But you really do need to stop being such a git about it!”

Albus knew that he was starting to match Malfoy’s tone. He couldn’t help it. He was just trying to be nice, but Malfoy was beginning to be obnoxious.

“So it’s my fault now, then?”

“No, I’m not saying that—!”

“—I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks about my family! I’m not my father!”

Malfoy’s sudden outburst made Albus feel a little anxious. Surely, by now, people would have heard them shouting. And true enough, he saw several students starting to head toward them, curious about the unexpected commotion.

Albus sighed. He definitely didn’t need this kind of trouble on his first day.

“Okay, mate, you’re not your dad. I _believe_ you. I just wanted to talk, you know? Like . . . like on the train . . . ? Albus said in a gentler tone, trying to defuse the situation. He was hoping that his milder approach would calm Malfoy down.

It seemed like it did. Malfoy’s shoulders began to relax and he lowered his head a little, as if preparing to apologize.

But then James arrived.

“Al, is that Malfoy brat bothering you? You know better than to mess with _that_!” James taunted, eliciting laughter from the three other boys that he was walking with.

Albus saw Malfoy’s shoulders stiffen in anger. He knew that he’d lost—Malfoy wasn’t going to listen to him anymore. But the nagging feeling inside him forced him to try one last time.

“Don’t listen to him,” Albus pleaded. “He’s full of it.”

 “I don’t need your pity!” Malfoy practically spat in reply. He then abruptly faced Albus, whipping out his wand and pointing it at the other boy in one fluid motion. Unintentionally or not, bright yellow sparks streaked from the tip, straight at Albus’ face.

 _“Gah!”_ Albus gasped as he braced himself for the impact. But . . . no impact came. When the sparks hit his face, the sensation was little different from being struck by a crumpled-up ball of paper. It seemed to Albus that the sparks were simply an expression of Malfoy’s emotions, rather than an actual spell. This impression was further strengthened by Malfoy himself seeming surprised at what he’d done.

It was then that Albus became aware of all of the murmurs that surrounded them. There were now a dozen students from different houses forming a loose semicircle behind him . . . including his brother, whose hand was already gripping his wand.

Oddly, there was another taller person in the mob. It was a man who looked too old to be a student, yet still young and brazen enough to be mistaken for one. He looked vaguely familiar.

“Malfoy wants a fight!”

“Show him what you’ve got, Potter!”

The crowd was growing larger, and growing restless. Voices from every side were jeering for them to start a fight. Albus was looking straight into Malfoy’s eyes. They seemed to be thinking the exact same thing— people wanted them to duel, but neither of them knew how.

About the only spell that Albus knew was the shield charm, and he didn’t know any offensive spells that would be of much use in a duel. Fortunately, Malfoy seemed to be in the same situation—the other boy’s eyes were giving off a look of evident confusion. Albus held his wand at the ready just in case, but silently willed the crowd to disperse of its own accord after it became apparent that the two first-years that they’d been expecting to fight didn’t actually know how to.

All of a sudden, a stream of red light whizzed past Albus’ ear, causing the students behind him to scatter to the sides. Malfoy hadn’t even said anything—he’d just had his wand pointed straight at Albus. It couldn’t have been a non-verbal spell, because those were too advanced for wizards their age. Albus concluded that Malfoy was simply doing what he’d done before, letting his wand transform his wild emotions into harmless glowing sparks. Despite that, though, the crowd seemed to love it.

“Malfoy fired the first shot!”

“Are you going to let him get away with that?”

“Show him what a Potter is made of!”

Albus was getting flustered by all of the cajoling. He looked towards his brother, hoping ever-so-slightly that the older Potter would show him a bit of compassion and get him out of there. James wasn’t looking at him, though. Instead, he was busy seething at the crowd, as though he was more annoyed with the crowd’s unsolicited comments. Albus also saw that the strange tall man was still watching them from the back of the crowd, a thin smile etched across his face.

Malfoy fired off another shot, making Albus dodge sideways. While Albus knew by then that the sparks were harmless, he still thought that it would be embarrassing to just keep getting hit all the time.

The crowd edged further away from them, giving them more space for movement. Malfoy then fired off another bolt, with Albus just barely jumping away from in time. In his desperation, he pointed his own wand at Malfoy, willing something, _anything,_ to come out of his wand to make it seem as if he was retaliating. Albus’ wand answered  by firing off a streak of green light, which caused Malfoy to jump to the side so abruptly that he fell flat on the grass.

Albus’ apparent willingness to fight back drove the crowd wild, and they cheered madly at the two young boys. Some of the students began shouting suggestions to both of them, from spells to tactics.

“Roll to the side, and then cast a leg-locker curse!”

 _“Stinging hex!_ Do a stinging hex!”

“End it with the stunning spell! _Stupefy!”_

Malfoy’s ears perked up as he heard the last suggestion. He aimed at Albus purposefully just as the other boy was getting up, and bellowed, “ _Stuperfy!”_

Albus knew that Malfoy had mispronounced the incantation . . . but even so, he knew fully well that a botched spell could still turn painful. As if on instinct, he did a sweeping motion with his wand, and shouted with all his might, “ _Protego!”_

Just before Malfoy’s spell reached Albus, it hit a barely visible wall and rebounded back at its caster. Malfoy could only mouth his surprise when the spell hit him right on the chest, knocking him to the grass.

Albus panicked as the crowd gave a collective gasp. He hoped with all his heart that he hadn’t injured his young adversary. And if he had, he’d need to make it clear that it had been unintentional. He was a secommd away from rushing to Malfoy’s aid, but the latter was already getting up, none the worse for wear—except perhaps for the scowl on his face.

“Kid, cast _Serpensortia,”_ Albus heard someone near him say. It was the tall man who’d been watching them from the very beginning, except that now he’d jostled his way to the front of the pack, almost directly behind Albus. The crowd was too loud for anyone else to have heard the man’s instruction, but Malfoy apparently did, judging from his determined nod. Albus suspected that the man had intended for Malfoy to hear it in the first place.

“ _S—_ _Serpensortia_!” Malfoy yelled hesitantly. His wand emitted a puff of green smoke…but nothing else. The spell seemed to have failed. The crowd still cheered, thinking that it was part of Malfoy’s plan of attack.

“ _Serpensortia_!” Malfoy bellowed again, this time more confidently. A loud bang erupted from his wand, and a second later, a loud hissing noise was heard over the crowd’s collective din.

“Snake! It’s a snake!”

“Snaaaaaaake . . . !”

“It’s Malfoy’s!”

The crowd gave Albus and Malfoy an even wider berth as a four-foot-long snake appeared in the space between them. It turned its scaly head toward Albus and slowly slithered towards him. Albus could only stare at it in abject terror. He stared at Malfoy in disbelief, but the other boy was also clearly terrified, judging from the look Albus got in reply. He got the impression that Malfoy was making an I’m-sorry-for-making-a-snake-go-after-you face.

“Potter, do something!”

“Talk to it!”

 “ _WHAT_?” Albus blurted. Every head turned to look at him. Did these people really think he could talk to snakes? Only his father could do that. It made Albus increasingly infuriated that they would think that he could do everything that his father could.

“Yeah, talk to it!”

“Talk the snake out of it!”

“Use _paresltongue_! Like this, _Hisss, ssshaaa shhhhh!”_

 _“ I CAN’T DO THAT!”_ Albus roared. The crowd was stunned into silence at his outburst.

Another hiss from the snake urgently reminded Albus that shouting was not going to help him out of his slithering problem. It was still inching toward him, menacingly flicking its tongue as it went.

“Al, get back!”

Suddenly, Albus felt his brother’s hand on his shoulder. James stepped forward, his wand raised.

“ _Flipendo!”_

A streak of blue light soared from James’ wand toward the snake, hitting it and sending it airborne. Albus thought that was the end of it, but the snake actually managed to land an inch in front of him. Visibly angered, it reared its head and lunged.

 _“AAAHHH!”_ Albus shouted as he fell on his back in fear. Before he even hit the ground, he heard a harsh _whoosh_ that sizzled through the air, coming from a point behind the crowd. It was a bright red jet of light that hit the snake, reducing it to a quickly smouldering hunk of ash.

“Oi! Are you boys _mad_?” asked a deeply-incensed voice. It was their Herbology professor, Neville Longbottom, who had apparently just arrived on the scene. He held his wand in front of him, seemingly the source of the powerful spell that had dispelled the snake. “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”

No one answered. Albus and Malfoy both looked at him in fear, terrified that they were about to be reprimanded for breaking a school rule. Not that anyone had told them it was forbidden to duel, but it still seemed to be something that was generally frowned upon.

“Not to worry, Professor Longbottom,” explained the tall man in the crowd that Albus had noticed earlier. “These boys were just having a friendly argument that turned . . . rather animated.”

“Colton? You were here _all this time_ and you didn’t feel the need to _intervene_?” Neville asked incredulously.

“I was . . . supervising. I would’ve stepped in if they’d done anything drastic. They’re still just first-years, after all . . . ”

“Shut it. We’ll talk later.” Neville then addressed the crowd: “And you lot, what are you standing around for? Lunch was over five minutes ago! Go on to your classes! _Except_ for . . . you two.” He then gave Albus and Malfoy a stern look, his eye slightly twitching ominously as he did.

The crowd dispersed quickly. Albus saw James gesture to him that they postpone any further talk until later. With everyone else gone, it was only then that Albus noticed the boy beside Neville. It was Thomas—apparently he was the one who had told Neville about the duel. Thomas gave Albus a sheepish grin, for lack of a less awkward greeting given their professor’s ire.  

“What made you think it was a good idea to duel?” Neville demanded from Albus.

“I . . . er . . . ” Albus stuttered. Neville was a close family friend, and he was unaccustomed to seeing the man angry.

“Sorry, professor—it was my fault. I’m sometimes easily provoked, and I lost my temper.”

Albus turned to see that it was Malfoy speaking, his head bowed down. This was a complete surprise to Albus, who would have expected the blonde to be too proud to admit any wrongdoing.

“Malfoy, I take it,” Neville nodded. “Why am I not surprised? You’re supposed to be in Herbology with the other Slytherins after lunch.”

“Yes, sir—I’m sorry.”

Albus thought he heard Malfoy sigh after hearing Neville’s comment.

“And _you_ ,” Neville continued, turning to Albus. His tone softened a little, though it was still quite stern. “Your _father_ wasn’t nearly this much of a troublemaker on his first day at school. Still . . . to see you and Malfoy have a go at each other . . . it’s almost nostalgic.”

Shaking his head, he continued, “Though I’m sure that your father would never let me hear the end of this, as your head of house, I’m going to have to give you detention this weekend. And also, I’m taking five points from Gryffindor. Seriously, it’s only your first day in—this has got to be some sort of record!

“And you, Malfoy. Detention for you, too. Though I don’t suppose your head of house will mind. . . now will he?” Neville asked as he glared at the man called Colton.

“Er, yes, of course!” said Colton. “That seems very appropriate, Professor Longbottom. Very apt indeed!”

“Very good, _P_ _rofessor_ Colton,” Neville replied dryly, placing sarcastic emphasis on the younger man’s title. “As a _professor_ , I’d expect you to be more of a model to the students and perhaps discourage them from having any more . . . _animated_ _arguments_ in the future, right?”

“Indeed, Professor Longbottom, you are absolutely right,” Professor Colton replied with a sycophantic smile that seemed obscenely wide.

“Well, then, I’ll be taking Mr. Malfoy here to my class. I suggest you do the same for Al—I mean, Mr. Potter and his friend Thomas here. If I’m not mistaken, this afternoon will be their very first _Defence Against the Dark Arts_ class.”

“Yes, actually, yes,” Professor Colton agreed. “You’re always on point, Professor Longbottom! We’ll be going, then.” He then guided Albus and Thomas back to the castle, while Neville escorted Malfoy to the greenhouses.

As they walked, Albus’ eyes lingered on Malfoy and Neville, with occasional sideways glances at Professor Colton. He wondered if he should have spoken up about how his _Defence Against the Dark Arts_ teacher had been the one who’d told Malfoy to conjure a snake out of thin air. But seeing as how his professor seemed like the kind of man who would enjoy conjuring snakes at any given time for any possible reason, Albus decided that it was probably better to keep quiet.

But he still had that nagging feeling in his chest.

  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my good friend who also writes HP stories, namely the Espen Norum Chronicles over at Nifty :D Thomas' character is an homage to him, the adopted son of his OC Espen and Dennis Creevey.
> 
> So, it is my sincere hope that I did not just ruin the story with how ridiculous the things (like in the duel) in the chapter might sound. I just wanted to do a few throwbacks. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think...like if I'm jumping the shark here or if I'm still ok.


	6. The Council of Cousins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus gets to know more about his Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher in the worst way possible, and he is officially welcomed to Hogwarts by the Weasley cousins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh and I have a cover pic.
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>  [](http://imgur.com/UqjvdIY)   
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**Chapter VI**

# The Council of Cousins

 

Professor Colton flitted around the large classroom, busily sweeping his wand this way and that. Several books and vials from his table instantly flew off onto shelves on a far-off wall, some orbs and glass instruments jumped from the floor to some unseen cupboards, and generally, all of the clutter in the room was being swept away.

For some of the students, it might have looked as if the professor was preparing to show them some dumbfounding new display of magic, as they were beginning to expect from their classes. To Albus, it looked like Colton really was just tidying up, as if the man had forgotten that he had classes at all.

“I’m sorry I kinda took away your five points,” Albus said to Thomas, who was seated beside him.

“I don’t mind! Seriously! I mean you took on _Malfoy_!” Thomas replied as he placed his book on the table. “My dad talked a lot about Malfoy’s dad in his book. It’s like history repeating itself, you know? My dad’s gonna spaz when he hears about it.”

“That was amazing, Potter! Having a duel on your _first day?_ They’ll be talking about this one for weeks!” added the boy to Albus’ right.

“Christopher, right?” Albus addressed the boy meekly. Albus vaguely remembered the boy’s name. He privately thought he should do better to remember the names of his housemates, especially his fellow first-years. Making friends wasn’t exactly a science he’d perfected.

“It’s _Chris_! I told you at the sorting, remember?” Christopher insisted.

“Call him ‘Tophy’—that really sets him off,” Thomas offered.

“That’s a stupid name!” Christopher hissed back.

“Alright, let’s start! Sorry for the mess—I didn’t think it would take this long to clean up!” Professor Colton greeted them enthusiastically. Albus and the rest of the students fell silent.

“That’s what I like to hear! Well, that is to say, nothing, because it makes it easier for you to listen! Pay close attention to this class, because I guarantee that it will be . . . very exciting. In fact, you’ll hardly need your books for the most part. We’ll be going practical. Wandwork—best to _learn_ magic as you _do_ magic,” he assured his students as they hesitantly stowed their books away.

“My name is Joshua Colton, your _Defence Against the Dark Arts_ professor. You may recognize me as one of the aurors assigned to the much-headlined Borgin raid some two years ago. I was even on _The Evening Prophet_ for it—you should try to find a copy if you want to see my interview.

“As a professional, I can give you all a more in-depth education about combating the dark arts. In fact, Hogwarts couldn’t have chosen a more experienced teacher for this subject, so you should count yourselves lucky! My good friend Mr. Harry Potter, head of the auror office, personally assigned me this solemn task!” Colton finished pompously.

“Hey, Alby—is this guy _really_ your dad’s friend?” Thomas whispered to Albus.

“Well, now that I remember it, I think my dad knew him, yeah,” Albus mused. He’d been suddenly reminded of a certain incident with his father which had occurred several years earlier.

***

~

_“Harry, what happened? Your face is bleeding!” Ginny exclaimed, hurriedly wiping the nasty cut on Harry’s cheek._

_“I’m fine, love.” Harry sagged on his seat, visibly exhausted. “Things just got a bit messy on the field. This one bloke was as daft as he was mental. Went charging in without us. I had to get his arse out of there before they blew him to bits.”_

_“Dad, are you okay?” Albus asked worriedly._

_“Daddy’s alright, Al—I just need to get back to the healer. I think the scar is permanent, though,” Harry replied, as he touched the glistening wound on his cheek. Ginny swatted his hand away and applied more essence-of-dittany on it._

_“Dad, how long do you think they can keep patching you up?”  James asked. “We can still go to the Quidditch World Cup Final next week, right?”_

_Ginny gave him a withering look while Harry chuckled to himself._

_“Yes, don’t worry about it—oh!”_

_Lily—the youngest Potter—had just grabbed onto Harry’s leg._

_“Dear, you’re worrying the kids,” Ginny whispered._

_“I swear, that git Colton is more a danger to the auror office than he is to dark wizards. But if I told him that, it’d break him. He’s only been an auror for a year. Still, I’d be happy to see the back of him,” Harry sighed, looking at his children fondly._

_“Shame we can’t send him back to McGonagall,” Ginny added. “She’d definitely drill some sense into him if he were still a student. Now_ that _would be a laugh.”_

_Harry looked at his wife intently. A few seconds later, a smile formed on his_ _lips._

 

***

 

“Nope. Professor Colton is _definitely_ not my dad’s friend,” Albus concluded.

Colton waved his wand a few more times, closing all the curtains until only the candles above them kept the room from sinking into darkness.

“Now, I’m sure that some of you already know this, but muggles have this brilliant thing called ‘cinema’ that works much like how wizard photographs and paintings move, but they last much longer and tell an actual story. Now thanks to some help from your dear Professor Andrew—I’m sure you’ll meet him later—I can apply this idea to my teaching methods like so . . . ”

With another wave of his wand, a large, blank canvas appeared behind him. A second later, the canvas began to emit a soft gentle glow, as if a large lamp had been placed behind it.

With another wave, a picture began to form on the lit canvas. It was a picture of Colton. The picture then began to move, first combing its brown wavy hair, and then facing the camera. It swept the room with its eyes, as if it could see the class.

And then it spoke.

“Welcome to your first _Defense Against the Dark Arts_ class.”

Some of the students seemed confused. Talking portraits were nothing new at Hogwarts, but Colton’s picture was something entirely different. It didn’t seem alive or conscious. It looked like it had been rehearsed. To Albus and the other students who had grown up around muggle communities, Colton’s moving picture wasn’t very surprising at all. They knew that it was simply the wizarding equivalent of movies.

 The Colton-image then began to explain what _Defense Against the Dark Arts_ encompassed. This was followed by a brief history of wizarding conflicts, with accompanying scenes of wizards and witches duelling, battling, flashes of light exploding every which way, as well as all of their frenzied shouts and battle cries. Dramatic overtures by violins, trumpets, drums and other instruments added suspense to the scenes that were playing on the screen.

Albus supposed it would have been exciting, if only he hadn’t already known what movies were. He didn’t even bat an eyebrow when his father showed up on the screen, dramatically battling anonymous dark wizards on a bleak, smoking battlefield.

Other students were quite interested, however, not least of which was his fellow Gryffindor Christopher. The boy was wide-eyed—almost certainly enamoured by what he was watching. Albus made a mental note to remind his new friend about Colton’s real relationship with his father.

What Albus did find funny, though, was that Colton was featured in all of Harry’s scenes, as if the man had been his father’s de facto sidekick in every battle. At one point, after having bested the enemy, Colton clasped Harry’s hand in apparent celebration. Then they both faced each other, staring meaningfully into each other’s eyes, until the scene showed the rest of the aurors celebrating in various ways. Albus couldn’t help but giggle. He knew that his father would absolutely throw up if he saw this.

“Right, now you have a basic idea of how this class will go,” Colton began as the last scene ended. With a wave of his wand, the canvas disappeared and the curtains were all raised, flooding the room with light once more.

“As you’ve seen, only the most elite aurors can ever go into battle side-by-side with Harry Potter himself. If you ever hope to be like me, then you had better pay attention.

“From the start, I want you to know that your final practical exam for the term will be a duel with yours truly. What better way to test your knowledge of defensive spells, yes?” Colton declared ecstatically.

Each of the students shared worried looks. Duelling a fully-fledged auror wasn’t exactly their idea of an appropriate educational assessment.

“Potter, to the front, if you please,” Colton said suddenly, looking directly at Albus.

“M—me, professor?” Albus was clearly not ready for any more unwanted attention.

“Yes, you. Now.” There was no mistaking his teacher’s imperious tone.

Albus hurried to the front, more out of fear than obedience, his hand loosely holding his wand.

“Earlier, Mr. Potter here presumed to already have working knowledge about magical combat. I’m sure that he’ll be happy to show the rest of you what hitherto unseen talent he possesses.”

Albus was internally panicking inside, because Colton had a grin that he knew all too well. It was the kind of devious grin that his brother James would sport on his face whenever he was about to do something mean.

“So . . . show me what you’ve got, boy.”

Albus could have sworn that he’d just seen a gleam of triumph in the professor’s eyes.  

_“Stupefy!”_ Colton thundered with an almost lazy flick of his wand. A stream of red raced towards the young boy.

_“Protego!”_ Albus countered, making the stunning-spell rebound.

Colton waved his wand and the spell suddenly seemed to hit an invisible wall before sharply changing its angle and hitting the floor. Albus knew that Colton had non-verbally used a shield charm of his own, though it was a far more powerful one. It was faster than Albus’, and it seemed that Colton could control where the spell rebounded, instead of just directly deflecting it back.

_“Petrificus Totalus!”_

_“Protego!”_

The spell rebounded towards Colton again, but another slight movement from his wand dissipated the spell entirely. Albus was beginning to sweat. What was Colton’s point in making him go through this?

_“Tarantallegra!“_

_“Protego!”_

_“Locomotor Mortis!”_

_“Protego!”_

Again and again, Colton easily dismissed the spells that Albus had been deflecting back at him. Though the man had seemed bored only moments earlier, he now seemed increasingly annoyed, as though he was becoming impatient. Impatient at what, though? For Albus to fall down? Despite the spells that were now knocking him back slightly and the sweat that was running down his forehead, Albus resolved to not give Colton that pleasure.

_“Rictusempra!”_

_“Protego!”_

_“Flipendo!”_

_“P—protego!”_

_“Carpe Retracto!”_

_“Pro—protego!”_

_“Confundo!”_

_“Proteg—“_

_“Depulso!”_

Albus fell to the floor, unable to keep up with the older wizard’s barrage. From his prone position, he could see the rest of his class. His cousin Rose was almost in tears after meeting his eyes. Some of his classmates actually looked away, mortified at seeing an adult assault an eleven-year-old boy.

“That was just sad, Potter! Your father could have done better at this age! You don’t even hold a candle to him,” Colton mocked with a haughty laugh. He pointed his wand at Albus, lifting the boy to his feet and instantly dusting him off.

“Sir, that wasn’t fair!” someone protested. “You’re already a fully-trained wizard. We’re just kids.”

Albus turned to see where the voice had come from. Thomas was standing up defiantly, his words calm but sure.

“Unfair, you say? Well, what about you, Mr. Potter? Do you think that our battle was fair?”

“No, sir,” Albus replied resentfully.

“Then you—all of you,” Colton began, “you have ten months to learn with me. Mr. Potter, by the time that we face each other again, learn how to _make_ it fair.” His eyes then roamed over the rest of the class, making it clear that his condescending expression was being directed at all of them as well.

If it would wipe the obnoxious smile off Colton’s face, Albus vowed, then it was a challenge that he was all too willing to take.

***

 

***

“Well, here’s to our new fellow Hogwarts cousins, Albus and Rose!”

“Cheers, mate!”

“Welcome!”

Albus’ first dinner at Hogwarts turned out to be a somewhat special occasion, especially, the dessert. His cousin Dominique had called him and Rose after they’d finished eating at the Great Hall, asking them to join a little welcoming party that she’d arranged with the rest of the Weasley cousins. Thanks to his Cousin Molly, who had close relations with the Hogwarts kitchen house elves, Albus and his cousins had been presented with a large white cheesecake and lemon soda. Instead of eating inside the castle, though, they’d gathered on top of one of the castle’s ramparts, seated on makeshift stools and enjoying an unobstructed view of the spectacular, starry night sky.

“You like the view?” Dominique’s older sister Victoire asked Albus. “A great night like this is the perfect kind of atmosphere for a romantic date . . . ”

“You’re _always_ thinking of dates,” Dominique’s younger brother Louis teased.

“Maybe _you_ should find someone to date, Louis. You’re plenty handsome.” Rose said in jest.

“That’s funny, ’coz for a bit of a while, I’d thought that he and James were dating, the way that they’d both scurry off to wherever during family outings,” offered Molly, as she distributed slices of cake to everyone.

Louis simply chuckled at Molly’s remark. James was flushed, though, and indignantly replied, “No we’re not!”

As Albus’ cousins explained, they had been gathering like this on special occasions ever since James and Louis had first arrived at Hogwarts two years earlier. It had been Dominique’s idea to form a social group out of all of the many Weasley cousins, so that they could be each other’s’ mentors and helpers as they went through their schooling—especially the first-year students.

Albus’ uncle Bill had been the first to get his children into Hogwarts, starting with Victoire—now in her seventh year—and followed by the fifth-year Dominique and then Louis, a third-year and the youngest of the siblings. Molly was also a fifth-year, the daughter of Bill’s younger brother Percy. Albus’ brother James had been the first Potter to attend Hogwarts since their father, and together with Louis, the pair had been the newest members of the group before Albus and Rose had arrived.

“Don’t argue while eating, James,” Dominique chided the elder Potter.

“I’m not arguing! Molly doesn’t know what she’s talking about!”

“Then don’t be so defensive. You’re too easily flustered, did you know that? Molly’s just having a laugh,” Dominique replied, gesturing towards Molly, who was indeed laughing.

It amazed Albus how in-charge Dominique seemed to be. As he recalled, his cousin hadn’t had the easiest time growing up, owing to the fact that she had been the first—and currently, the only—Weasley to have ever been sorted into Slytherin.

From the snippets of conversation that he’d heard from his mother and father, Albus knew how Dominique’s sorting had sent ripples of concern throughout the Weasley clan, with some members’ attitudes toward her changing for the worse, even if unintentionally. This was despite the fact that his father Harry, Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione, and Uncle Bill—Dominique’s father—were all openly defending the honour of her house.

_“Ambition—that’s what Slytherins are valued for. They strive to be greater than what they are now. To be more than the person that people see and believe you are._ ” This was what Dominique had told Albus years ago when he, in his childish naiveté, had asked her how she could belong to a house like Slytherin.

_“There are a lot of us Weasleys,”_ she’d explained _. “There’s hardly any room to stand out and be yourself. I wanted to be something more. I didn’t want to be just another Weasley—I wanted to be my own person_.”

_“Even if they put you in a bad house?”_ Albus had asked innocently.

_“Slytherin is just a house_ ,” Dominique had answered. _“A house can’t be ‘bad’ just for being what it is. People look down on Slytherin because Voldemort and his followers were sorted there. But more than that, many people hate Slytherins—the people there themselves—because they’re looked at like some arrogant wannabes who don’t know their place. As if the students there never had a right to rise above their names, or above other people’s expectations._ ”

Albus remembered not fully understanding what she was saying at the time, and that Dominique had affectionately patted his head when she realized that he didn’t understand. Dominique had also given him a chocolate bar, and Albus remembered it as having been especially yummy.

If anything, being in Slytherin had made Dominique into a fine leader. Albus sometimes wondered how people could still think of Slytherin so badly when there were people like Dominique in it. And there were other good people too, too, according to the stories that his father had told him . . .

Thinking about his father’s tales made Albus remember a certain blonde-haired boy. He sighed and looked up at the stars once more. What could Malfoy be doing right now? Did he also have cousins that he could talk to and laugh with, like Albus did?

The Weasley cousins had a lively conversation for the next hour. Victoire and the other older cousins gave their younger relatives advice and anecdotes that they’d picked up while at school. Albus and Rose told them about their first day, including the very tense class that they’d had with Professor Colton. The rest of them listened in shock as Albus and Rose described to them how the older wizard had pelted the former with spells that the younger boy hadn’t even known about.

“Professor Colton was really mean to Albus,” Rose concluded with a pout.

“I know that Colton is a bit . . . spirited, but I’d have to say that something like that definitely crosses the line,” Molly agreed.

“A fully-formed shield charm? Wow—you’re amazing, Albus!” Victoire gushed, her eyes glowing in admiration.

“It’s just a simple spell—” James tried to cut in.

“I bet Colton took you on ’cuz he knew you could take it, champ,” Louis added approvingly. “Just show him what-for come the practical exam, and if he gets on your case anymore, you’d better tell Uncle Nev—I mean, Professor Neville.”

“Hey, Albus—why don’t you tell everybody _why_ Colton knew you could do the shield charm. What about that detention, eh?” James smirked.

“Detention on your first day? Not exactly something to brag about, is it?” Dominique asked Albus. And seeing her disapproving look, he blushed in embarrassment.

“It wasn’t my fault, really!” he began. He proceeded to tell them an abridged version of his terse encounter with Malfoy earlier, including the snake. However, he stopped short of mentioning that Colton had given Malfoy the snake-conjuring spell in the first place.

“Blimey, it was sure lucky that Uncle Nev stepped in,” Louis chimed in. “That snake could’ve been _poisonous!”_

“It wasn’t even that big,” James scoffed. But it seemed as though no one heard him, and their attention remained fixed upon Albus.

 “Dueling at your age? That’s actually a rather attractive trait in a boy,” Victoire commented.

“It was hardly a duel!” James insisted, a little more loudly.

The table went silent as everyone looked at him, with his irritation now quite visible in his face.

“I mean,” James continued, “they were just shooting stupid sparks at each other. That’s not even real magic! It was more like babies fighting, to be honest.”

No one replied—there was already a hint of awkwardness in the air. Albus shifted uncomfortably. He did have one thing he wanted to say.

“James?”

“Yeah, twerp?”

“Thanks for trying to help me with the snake,” Albus said sincerely. He hoped that James would appreciate his gratitude.

_“Trying_?” James angrily repeated. “I stick my neck out for you and that’s what I get? You telling me I tried and failed? That’s rich. You know what else is rich? People goading you on like you’re the only Potter around. Hell, if I had my broom I would’ve grabbed that thing while flying and chucked it over the Forbidden Forest! Bludgers are scarier than stupid snakes!” James crossed his arms after finishing his tirade. Nobody replied.

Albus almost felt like crying. What had he done that had angered his brother so much?

“Hey, James,” Louis said as he got up. “I forgot to tell you I have a new copy of _Wonder Witch Weekly_. Come on, I’ll show you.”

James clicked his tongue and said, “Fine.”

Louis then departed the group with James in tow. Everyone stayed silent until the pair were out of sight.

“There they go again,” Molly sighed, her eyebrows raised. “What _is_ it exactly that they do together all the time?”

“Well, I’m just glad that my brother is as smart as he is tactful. I’ve gotta thank him for that,” Victoire said as she, too, let out a sigh of relief.

“Did . . . did I do something wrong?” Albus asked the group morosely.

“Of course not! Your brother’s just being a big jerk,” Rose said as she put a reassuring arm around Albus’ shoulders.

“Don’t mind your brother, Al. Whatever it is he’s going through, he’ll sort it out eventually,” Dominique said with a gentle tone.

The only thing that really bothered Albus was if ‘sorting it out’ meant that ‘it’ was Albus himself.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was writing this, I was thinking..."People might get bored of teacher introductions now", so there was at least another class I cut out (the one about a certain Professor Andrew). I might repurpose that bit later. But I really just thought that too much wasa happening on Albus' first day. 
> 
> Colton was supposed to be this over enthusiastic "jock" kind of a teacher. He's super arrogant, but he usually has a point. He also always seems like he doesnt know what he's doing. I thought of him as a cross between Lockhart and Lupin, except more of the grandstanding Lockhart in his personality. He's also a Harry fanboy, maybe even more than the Creeveys...in a way you dont want kids to know XD
> 
> I also had this headcanon that James would be a jerky older brother (as most 13-year old boys are, I'm sure), and that he and his part-veela cousin Louis (so says the official wiki) get up to all sorts of "trouble", maybe the er, messy kind (wink wink nudge nudge). Also, I envisioned Wonder Witch Weekly as a wizard porn mag...so there :p
> 
> I plan to expound on Chris more. My intention was to make him and Thomas Albus' best friends, with either boy acting like the devil/angel on Albus'shoulder, sort of. They'll just embody different ideals.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys like this chapter. Next one has us transitioning a week later, finally.


	7. Detention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus and Scorpius serve their detention together, and get to know more about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh and I have a cover pic.
> 
>  
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>  [](http://imgur.com/UqjvdIY)   
>    
> 

**Chapter VII**

# Detention

 

 

  
Albus’ first weekend at Hogwarts wasn’t at all how he’d expected it to be. Before Hogwarts, his typical weekend routine would begin with him waking up early, anticipating a fun-filled day to spend with his games and his friends. But today, a feeling of dread loomed over him as he remembered that he’d be serving his first-ever detention later on that day.

“Well, at least it’s just for the afternoon. And you’d probably be in time for dinner. That’s a ‘check’, by the way,“ Thomas said, ever the one to find the bright side of any situation. He and Albus had begun the morning by playing a few games of wizard chess, with their friend Christopher eagerly watching them.

“So, if the pieces basically destroy each other, then how do you get to use them again for another game?” asked a wide-eyed Christopher.

“Shhh, Tophy, there are some mysteries in the world that even wizards shouldn’t know,” Thomas replied enigmatically.

“We can find out if you don’t know. I just won anyway. Knight to E5,” Albus said with a smile.

“What? But I had you—“ Thomas protested, but as the white king threw its crown to the ground, he relented and instead let out a sigh.

“I kinda left my king open so that you wouldn’t notice the knight.” Albus then scooped up all the pieces and placed them into the hollow compartment of the wooden chess board. He closed it, and then, after a few seconds, he opened it again. All the pieces were whole and spotless once more.

“See, Christopher? Good as new.” Albus gestured to the box as an astounded Christopher looked on. “Want another round, Thomas? Three out of four?”

“I’ll pass,” Thomas replied as he raised his hand dismissively. “I won once, and that’s enough for me. I don’t want to have to lose five more times before I win again. “

“Well, if you’re sure . . . ”

“Yes, I’m sure. Besides, I have a feeling that you just want to keep wiping the floor with me so that you won’t have to think about your detention later on.”

Albus grimaced and sagged in his chair at Thomas’ very astute observation.

“Don’t be mean, Thomas,” Christopher said, emphasizing his reproach with a frown. He then turned to Albus and put his arm over his friend’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right.”

“Way to go, team mom,” Thomas chimed in. Then he chuckled at Christopher’s offended look.

 

 

***

 

“A bittersweet banquet for one destined for the gallows . . . ”

“You’re . . . not going to stop teasing me until we get there, huh?”

“Probably not. Friends are weird that way, don’t you agree?” Thomas replied jovially as he and Albus walked out of the Great Hall after lunch.

“Actually, you’re the only one who’s weird that way,” Albus replied more light-heartedly than he’d thought he could. Thomas had insisted on walking Albus down to the greenhouses where he’d been told to report to detention. Whether it was to allow him to console Albus or continue to tease him, it was still a gesture that the young Potter was wholly grateful for.

“Cheer up!” Thomas continued. “It could be worse. At least you’re not doing something for Whitby. And hey, your folks know Professor Longbottom, so this is practically a guaranteed cakewalk.”

“Still, it’s not the way I’d imagined I’d be spending my first weekend here,” sighed Albus.

“You’re still on about that howler that your mum sent you?” Thomas remarked casually as they walked the grassy fields of the school grounds.

“No, _that_ one I expected.” Albus shuddered a the thought. The morning when he’d received a magical letter audibly berating him in his mother’s angry voice for all the world to hear was a particularly unpleasant memory. “It’s just that I feel like people are talking behind my back about how I got detention so early in the year. I feel like . . . they think I’m bad or something.”

“Funny how you’re not even sure about that, but you’re still all antsy about it.” Thomas mused. “If that’s what they really think, then you should just prove them wrong.”

“Easier said than done. I think I made a bad first impression. I wish I could just fly away from it like Professor Flitwick does in class.” Albus looked up to the perfectly cloudless sky, and then down to the fields, where other students were running, playing, or otherwise enjoying their detention-free day.

“Then you’d have to do double-detention for skipping out on your first. Just suck it up, mate.” Thomas said knowingly. “Incidentally, how _does_ he do that, though? The flying thing?”

“Didn’t you listen last time? He said that it’s an evolved and permanent form of _Wingardium Leviosa_ that he came up with himself when his legs went bad,” Albus recounted. “And anyway, you’re right—I guess that won’t really help me now.” He stopped and looked up with a grim expression on his face—they had arrived at the greenhouses.

“I’m telling you, mate, you’re getting all worked up over nothing.” Thomas then took two packets of biscuits from his pocket. “Here, Tophy said that I should give you these in case you get hungry.”

“Wow, that’s quite thoughtful of him,” Albus said as he took the biscuits.

“Well if he gets any more thoughtful, I’d have to call him ‘Mrs. Potter’. He worries way too much, you know? He’s not your mum, and you don’t need your mum looking after everything you do. We’re big boys now!” Thomas emphasized his statement by suddenly slapping the small of Albus’ back.

“Gah!”

“I’ll see you at dinner!” Thomas gave him a cheerful wave before turning and walking back to the castle.

After waving back, Albus gulped once, and then opened the door.

 

 

***

 

 

“There you are! I was almost beginning to think that you wouldn’t come.” Neville was busily stuffing a roll of parchment in a backpack, among other things. The professor was himself dressed in a manner that suggested he had business elsewhere.

“I’m sorry. Am I late?” Albus asked meekly.

“No, no. It’s just that I was already thinking of what I could have possibly done if you became stubborn about coming. It’s . . . a scenario that I’d rather not have to talk to Harry about.” Neville grimaced at the thought.

“But I guess I needn’t have worried. Seems as though you’re as different from your brother as they say you are. Anyway, now that you’re both here, we can get started.” He then gestured to the boy that was sitting behind him.

Scorpius Malfoy stood obediently and gave Albus a curt nod. The boy looked bored, yet still had an air of impeccable class—his clothing was casual yet also sharp, with his hair still heavily slicked back. Albus rather wished that instead of the pair of shorts that he’d worn, he opted for something more respectable, like the trousers that Malfoy was wearing.

“Honestly, because this bit of detention came so early in the year, I couldn’t find anyone else to supervise you, so I had to do it myself,” Neville said hurriedly as he continued clearing a nearby desk. “But as luck would have it, I have business to attend to this afternoon, which would cost me the time that I need to do my errands in the greenhouses. So . . . I thought that I’d have you boys help me out.”

“What is it that we’ll be doing, Professor?” Malfoy asked.

“Well, simply put, I have a list of herbs and extracts over there that need to be collected.” Neville turned to face the boys as he explained. “Some of them are for distribution to various wizard hospitals in Britain. Hogwarts has one of the most expansive medicinal herb nurseries in the country, you know..

“So just work together to gather those, or otherwise tend to the other ones in the list as I’ve instructed, and then you’ll be finished.” As Neville stood up to return to his desk, he added, “Of course, this is supposed to be a detention, so no magic . . . and I’ll know if you try. The point is for you to work hard and maybe learn a bit of teamwork. I’ll be back just before you’re done.”

“That . . . doesn’t sound so bad for a detention,” Albus replied, his spirits lifting.

“You’re telling me. Back in the day, ‘detention’ meant going into the Forbidden Forest to find evil, maniacal, unicorn-eating wizard dictators. If nothing else, it did a superb job of teaching young wizards why that forest is ‘forbidden’.” Neville winced slightly, as though recalling something unsettling.

“That or you’d have had a lovely time with the old castle caretaker—bless his soul, I suppose—helping him with chores in his office, which among other things, featured child-sized manacles bolted to the walls. He also had a cat with the meanest eyes that you could possibly imagine.”

Neville looked back to the two students and found them staring at him with dumbfounded faces. Even the usually stoic Malfoy had his mouth hanging open.

“I suppose your dad didn’t tell you about being sent on one such detention in the forest, eh, Malfoy? Well, plucking a few leaves should be a little safer than that.” By that point, Neville had finished packing his bag and was on his way out the door. But before leaving, he added: “Oh, but there is one other thing that I’d hoped you boys could help me with.”

He put his bag down and led the boys to a small greenhouse that was separated from the rest. It was damp and poorly lit compared to the others. Considering that it was only an hour past noon, Albus thought that the room had been intentionally darkened with magic.

“Boys, say hello to Devlin.”

Albus gawked at the peculiar sight that Neville had so enthusiastically introduced. It seemed to be a plant, but it was frighteningly large for something that was kept in a school greenhouse. It had a thick, large trunk that seemed to be made of sinew and vines, and looked like a great big green tentacle. It was as tall as Neville and just big enough to strangle a small person. Or children. Children like himself, Albus thought nervously. The thing—whatever it was—had three slightly smaller plant-tentacles that looked thick enough to hoist a man up by his ankles, with two of them attached to one side of the main trunk, and one on the other.

“Cool, isn’t she?” Neville said in a hushed, reverent tone. His charges thought it better to hold their disagreement. When neither boy replied, he continued, “What you’re looking at is a juvenile pygmy Devil’s Snare.”

Neville paused, as if waiting for the boys to tell him that they already knew this. But because they didn’t, he continued with his explanation. “It’s a curious magical plant whose tentacles are quite dangerous. A fully mature one would be too risky to keep here—it would throttle anyone that came near. Thankfully, this one’s still just a sapling. Incidentally, it’s the spawn of a Devil’s Snare that helped protect Hogwarts back in my school days, or so I was told. It’s also been crossbred with a Tentacula so that now, its diet is more manageable, and it’s less . . . grabby. _Usually._

“This little guy,” Neville continued, gesturing at a smaller vine, “is a milestone in Herbology. Because Devil’s Snares are usually hard to study, Devlin here gives us the rare opportunity to study the species with a much lower mortality rate to its observers.” As he stood there gazing down at the plant, its three main vines shook in gentle sweeping motions, as if trying to dust itself off.

For his part, Albus thought it astounding how Neville could say ‘study’ and ‘mortality rate’ together in the same sentence without flinching.

“Anyway, in the afternoons, she likes to be fed Chizpurfles—it’s the favoured food of Tentaculas.” Neville then pointed to a bucket on a nearby shelf. It was only then that Albus heard a faint skittering coming from inside of it.

“Crab-like plant parasites. Just gather three of the little buggers and place them gently in front of Devlin. Twist them a bit into the soil so that Devlin can smell them. Well, not really _smell_ . . . but you know what I mean. The Tentacula part of its biology will sense them and do the rest.”

“So . . . all we need to do is feed it?” Malfoy asked hesitantly.

“Yes. Just be careful. Devlin isn’t deadly . . . yet. But it still has a nasty grip if you get on its bad side.” As if on cue, one of the tentacles seized Neville’s arm and tugged viciously.

“Professor!”

 _“Oi! Devlin! Bloody hell!”_ Neville exclaimed as he fought the plant that was trying to flail him around. In an instant, Neville had his wand at the ready. Blue flames erupted from its tip and hovered in mid-air, causing the tentacle to release Neville’s arm. The entire plant visibly recoiled, as if terrified by the azure ball of flame. A brief second later, Neville flicked his wand and the flame disappeared.

“That’s Devlin for you—feisty as ever.” Neville faced the two boys again. Both Albus and Malfoy had pressed their backs to the wall, trying to get as physically far away from Devlin as possible. The look of panic that was etched onto their faces wasn’t lost on the Herbology professor.

“Oh, what was I thinking, asking you kids to feed Devlin?” Neville ruffled his sleeves as though a plant-creature hadn’t just tried to strangle him. “You know what? Never mind. Forget everything about Devlin. Just stay away from him and do the rest of the things on the list, all right?”

Both Albus and Malfoy nodded eagerly. They followed Neville away from Devlin’s enclosure and back out to the main greenhouse.

“Everything that you need to know is in the list. Remember to use gloves on the _Mimbletonia_. And if anyone asks about me, I’m off to visit my gran. Don’t want her to haunt me for forgetting to pay my respects. Other than that . . . just try not to blow the greenhouses up, all right?”

With that, Neville exited the greenhouse, closing the door behind him.

 

***

 

 

—I’m sorry about the duel that we had.

_—Thank you and I accept your apology._

—Actually, wait, why am _I_ apologizing? It was _your_ fault!

_—No! It was totally your fault!_

—No, this isn’t working. You don’t sound like that.

_—No, I don’t, and you are very bad at trying to act like me._

—Shut up.

_—I’m a plant, I don’t even talk._

—Point taken.

It was the third time that Albus had tried to imagine what a similar conversation would be like with Malfoy. For this attempt, his practice partner was a clump of knotgrass.

After Neville had left them to their own devices, Albus and Malfoy had divided the work between them, with Malfoy handling the bottom half of the list. After that initial agreement, they hadn’t talked to each other or interacted in any way. It was driving Albus crazy.

How could anyone stand being alone in the same room with someone else—and doing the very same thing—and not talk with them at all? How could Malfoy be so nonchalant about working with a boy that he’d just recently fought with? Albus just couldn’t understand it. He wondered if reticence was among Malfoy’s many talents, alongside prolonged staring, stubbornness and an inclination for conflict.

Two soil beds away, Albus could hear Malfoy’s light footsteps, and the faint snipping noises of his shears as he gathered the specified herbs. Never once did Albus hear him sigh, or groan or complain. Or even breathe audibly. The other boy was as quiet as could be. It was a habit that Albus found immensely disquieting.

“That’s it, I’m going to go over there, and talk to him and just get this over with,” Albus mumbled under his breath. “That’s right. It doesn’t matter whose fault it was. The important thing is that we’re both sorry and—“

“Hey.” Malfoy had suddenly appeared at Albus’ side, sporting a perfectly impassive face. Albus was thoroughly surprised that Malfoy even approached him, and took it as a gesture of apology.

“—I’m totally okay with it, Scorpius.”

“Excuse me?” Malfoy replied, nonplussed.

“I mean . . . didn’t you . . . didn’t you want to talk?” Albus stuttered. He felt the color rising in his cheeks, and the prickly uncomfortable feeling of being extremely embarrassed.

“No. I needed your help. Professor Longbottom said that we should work together, so I was going to ask you to help me with something.” Malfoy’s voice was calm and sure, but he kept an eyebrow raised as he spoke.

“Oh . . . uh, of course!” Albus mentally slapped himself for being so presumptuous. He followed Malfoy as the other boy led him to a row of potted Bubotubers. These strange plants had bulbous, slug-like bodies jutting out of the soil, each slightly larger than the size of a hand.

“The professor’s list says that we need to apply fertilizer around the pot, but we need to be careful to not touch the protrusions. They have pus inside,” Malfoy explained as he read the list. He then pointed to the plants. “Some of them are drooping, though, so you’ll have to hold them up while I apply the fertilizer. Think you can do that?”

“Yeah . . . that sounds easy enough,” Albus replied. It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to talk to Malfoy. Every word that Malfoy spoke was crisp, clear, formal, and even cold. It was something Albus couldn’t hope to match for long. Why was it so hard to talk to Malfoy? More than that, though, why was even thinking about it giving him an uncomfortable tingling in his stomach?

“Hold it like that.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Next one.”

“You’re going too fast.”

“No, you’re the one who’s lagging behind.”

Pot after pot, Albus held the wriggling, slimy plants while Malfoy eased fertilizer around them with a trowel. Albus didn’t even mind that Malfoy sometimes chided him for slipping at times. At least they were talking, if only cordially. It was a start.

After their twelfth plant, Albus could feel his knees buckle. Malfoy himself was becoming visibly tired, with beads of sweat now dotting his smooth, pale face.

“Scorpius, we need a break.”

“We’ll get this done sooner if we keep going,” Malfoy insisted.

“We’ve been working straight for the past three hours! Just because it’s detention doesn’t mean that we can’t rest.” When Malfoy gave him a stubborn look, Albus persisted. “We’ll go much slower if we’re too tired.”

“Fine.”

Albus led him to a spot nearby where there was enough room to sit on the floor. He plopped down with his legs spread in front of him, and then called to Malfoy and patted the spot beside him. Malfoy gave him a disgruntled look at first, almost as if he was turning his nose up, but he finally relented and sat down next to Albus with his legs folded. Malfoy wiped the sweat off his face with a neatly-folded napkin from his pocket, while Albus dug inside his own pocket and produced two packets of biscuits.

Albus placed one of the packets onto Malfoy’s lap, which caused the blonde boy to give him a questioning look.

“What’s this?”

“A bishkit, wash it rook like?” Albus replied as he chewed on one of his own biscuits.

“No thanks.” Malfoy chose to stare at a random wall, as though he was trying to resolutely ignore the packet that had already been placed onto his lap.

“Leave it there if you want. But it’s your problem now. You probably won’t want to waste it, though—they’re pretty good.”

Malfoy remained silent. Still staring at the far-off wall, he subtly unwrapped the packet and helped himself to a biscuit. He didn’t see the small smile on Albus’ face when he finally took his first bite.

“Scorpius, look. If we’re going to work together, you could at least stop being so . . . so . . . ” Albus bit his lip as he struggled to find the words.

“So focused?” Malfoy replied.

“Not exactly.”

“Serious?”

“No.”

 _“What,_ then?” Malfoy finally asked. His slight annoyance was masked by his subsequent munching of his second biscuit.

“I was going more for ‘so determined to not talk to me’.” Albus had an anxious look on his face as waited with bated breath for Malfoy’s response.

“It just didn’t seem like I needed to. After all, it doesn’t make doing this detention any easier,” Malfoy stated matter-of-factly.

Albus frowned. “That doesn’t mean you should ignore me completely.”

“I didn’t. I asked for your help, didn’t I?”

“That’s . . . ! That’s not what I meant,” Albus sighed in exasperation. His shoulders drooped in apparent defeat.

“You get too worked up about things,” Malfoy commented simply as he nibbled on his third biscuit. “You care too much about stuff that you don’t really need to care about. I mean, why would you care whether I talk to you or not?”

“It just doesn’t feel right. I mean, the last time that we met, we were hexing each other’s faces off,” Albus replied quietly.

“Hardly. You and I both know that we didn’t really know any spells to cast.”

Both Albus and Malfoy glanced at each other at the same time. Despite what either of them thought about the other, they both couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t hold that duel against you. I started it and I’m sorry. That includes the snake.”

“Wow.” Albus paused in surprise. He felt silly for worrying about talking to Malfoy about the duel when Malfoy so easily apologized. “I . . . uh . . . I didn’t really think you’d say that so easily.”

“Let me guess. You thought that I’d be too proud to admit when I was wrong?” Malfoy said with a mirthless grin.

“Kind of like that.”

Malfoy didn’t reply immediately. He was busy shaking the now-empty packet of biscuits into his mouth, hoping there was more. Albus saw this and offered his own packet, which still had two pieces left. Malfoy gave him a warm look, and then nodded as he accepted the biscuits, muttering a word of thanks under his breath.

“You try too hard to be nice to me,” Malfoy added. “Don’t. I don’t want to be treated differently. I don’t want pity and I don’t want to be patronized. Not by you, and not by any of my housemates either.”

Malfoy chewed on a biscuit for a while before continuing. “You kind of remind me the S.U.C.S leader. She’s a Weasley. I assume you’re related?”

“Cousin. She’s just trying to help.” It was not lost on Albus that Malfoy was at least looking at him as they talked.

“Well, I don’t want any help—it just makes me stand out. I don’t want special treatment.” Malfoy stared at the ceiling momentarily as if remembering a dearly held wish. “I just want to be normal. Just like everyone else, without anyone giving me any funny looks because of my family or something.”

“ _I_ think you’re normal.” Albus hoped that he sounded as sincere as he was feeling.

Malfoy gave Albus a strange look, almost as if he was mildly surprised. He went back to staring at the ceiling, but this time, with a small smile on his face. “Too bad the rest of the world doesn’t think like you do.”

“A friend of mine said that if you’re not even sure how people think, it’s no use worrying about it. And that if you want to change how people think of you, then prove them wrong,” Albus said thoughtfully, mentally thanking Thomas for the quote.

“If only it were that easy,” Malfoy sighed as he glanced over at Albus. “Maybe I should change my name. I’m pretty sure that the first thing people think of when they hear my name is an eight-legged nightmare creature with a poison stinger. So . . . tell me I’m wrong,” he demanded playfully, a smirk on his face.

“Well . . . er . . . ” While Albus was grateful that Malfoy seemed to be loosening up, he was inexplicably getting flustered for reasons that he couldn’t explain. He thought that it was because he wasn’t used to Malfoy being so friendly towards him . . . or at least as candid, if not friendly. “No, your name is fine . . . ”

“Then maybe I should change my hair? Someone in the common room once told me that it looked too . . . haughty.”

“No, I actually think that your hair looks nice the way it is,” Albus replied without thinking. His cheeks flushed when he realised what he’d said. “I—I mean, you’re the only one who’s got that kind of style. It looks . . . simple and clean.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah . . . ” Albus paused as Malfoy’s eyes locked onto him. Hesitantly, he reached for Malfoy’s head with his right hand, and slowly ran his hand through Malfoy’s smooth, slicked-back blonde hair. Albus guessed that Malfoy used a styling wax of some sort for his hair to look so pristinely-shaped. Albus stroked Malfoy’s hair a few more times, and each time, he could’ve sworn that Malfoy shuddered ever so slightly.

“Hey . . . don’t ruin it . . . ” Malfoy finally told him, in a manner that was uncharacteristically soft-spoken. He raised up a hand to meet Albus’ own, and then brought it down again.

Malfoy’s touch had been gentle—even hesitant—and Albus hoped that the other boy hadn’t felt how much he’d flinched when their hands had met.

“My dad taught me how to fix my hair. It takes a lot of time . . . ”

“I’m sorry.” Albus was beginning to feel light-headed. He reasoned that it must be due to the unusually humid atmosphere of the greenhouses. That, or the fact that Malfoy was still holding his hand.

“Your hand feels really warm. Are you okay?” Malfoy asked. He gave Albus’ hand a few curious squeezes, unknowingly causing the other boy to feel extremely flustered.

“Isn’t—isn’t it always supposed to be?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like . . . I hold a lot of people’s hands at random . . . ” A nearly imperceptible redness appeared on Malfoy’s cheeks as he quickly let go of Albus’ hand. He darted his eyes to his right, away from Albus. “Anyway, we’ve wasted enough time. We need to get back to work.”

“S—sure.”

 

 

***

 

 

An hour later, Albus and Malfoy had finished all of the tasks on Neville’s list. Albus noted how in that time, Malfoy had worked near him even when they didn’t need to, and had talked much more than he used to. True, it was restricted to comments—or more often sarcastic criticisms—about Albus’ work, but Albus definitely felt that Scorpius was becoming more . . . sociable. ‘Friendly’ would have been an overstatement, but it was still a definite improvement.

“Well, I guess we’re done. What now?” Malfoy asked Albus.

“Professor Neville said that he’d be back by now . . . and I don’t know if we’re allowed to leave without him,” Albus replied as he washed his hands in a nearby sink.

“We’ll just wait for him, then.”

“And do . . . what? Just stand around?” Albus asked.

Malfoy pulled up a nearby chair. “I suppose we could just _sit_ around, if it makes any difference.”

“Well, that would be kind of boring. We don’t know how long he’s gonna be out,” Albus pointed out, sounding slightly annoyed.

“If you want to go ahead without Professor Longbottom, be my guest,” Malfoy retorted dismissively. “You’re the one who knows him personally. He might just shrug and keep it under the rug. As for me, I’m not going to risk breaking any more school rules, implied or otherwise.” Malfoy crossed his arms and sat firmly on the chair.

Albus sighed in frustration. It was nearly dinnertime, he wanted to leave, and staying with Malfoy with nothing to do was still a little awkward. He paced around the room several times, trying to find something interesting to look at. His eyes would almost always drift back to Malfoy, who was calmly seated with his eyes closed. He almost looked as if he was meditating.

“Well, there’s . . . one more thing we _could_ do . . . .” Albus suggested after a brief silence. _“Devlin.”_

Malfoy opened his eyes with a raised brow. “You mean that . . . ? No. No, stop. Not gonna happen.”

“Professor Neville _wanted_ us to do it, right? He just doesn’t expect us to actually _do_ it.”

“For good reason,” Malfoy irately replied. “That thing could _kill_ us. That’s why he said we should forget it, remember?”

“Well, he also said that it _can’t_ kill us . . . yet. We’d just need to be careful. And think how pleased he’d be with us if we _did_ do it!”

Malfoy paused at the thought, but shook his head firmly. “We are _not_ going near that thing again.”

“Pft—suit yourself. I’m going to feed it,” huffed Albus. He turned on the spot and walked off in the direction of Devlin’s enclosure.

“Don’t be stupid, Albus!” Malfoy repeated. “You’re going to get hurt!”

Albus walked on even as Malfoy protested. Just as he reached the enclosure, he heard harried footsteps stop beside him. “Glad I could change your mind,” he teased.

Malfoy shot Albus a look that almost seemed like a sneer. “You didn’t. I was just thinking that you might get killed without someone helping you, and if that happened, it’d somehow be my fault again.”

“Fair enough,” Albus replied as he smiled to himself. The two boys entered the dimly-lit room cautiously, eyeing the large green plant in the middle. Devlin the Devil’s Snare was unmoving, save for a few small vine tendrils on its three tentacles that were lazily waving at random, as if in a breeze.

Both boys headed to the far side of the greenhouse, where Neville had shown them Devlin’s preferred diet of Chizpurfles. The hermit-crab-like creatures were incessantly skittering around inside a steel bucket, each of them no larger than a small toddler’s fist. Albus hesitantly dipped his hand and pinched one of them by its shell, held it up to the dim light and wrinkled his nose. Beside him, Malfoy made a retching noise.

“They don’t look _that_ disgusting.”

Malfoy didn’t deign to reply. He just kept softly muttering a constant tirade of phrases such as: “ . . . stupid Gryffindor . . . brave my arse . . . this is suicide . . . stupid Albus . . . ”

After making sure that Malfoy was watching him, Albus began walking towards Devlin with the Chizpurfle daintily in hand. He was still holding it with just two fingers, wanting to limit its contact with his hand as much as possible.

A few steps away from Devlin’s soil bed, the Chizpurfle flailed its limbs around violently, hard enough for Albus’ hold on it to loosen. Albus gasped—less in surprise and more in disgust—as the creature crawled all over his hand, giving him an extremely uncomfortable tickling sensation. He involuntarily shook his hand as hard as he could, causing the Chizpurfle to land squarely in front of Devlin. A moment later, a graceful tentacle scooped up the small creature and drove it deeper into the soil, close the base of Devlin’s trunk.

All the while, Malfoy was lost in a fit of giggles over what happened. He paused for breath only when Albus approached him with a sour look.

“That wasn’t the best way to feed that thing, I take it?” Malfoy asked with a playful grin.

“Shut it, you! Why don’t you give it a try then, since you think you know how to do it better?”

“I never _said_ I did. I’m not going to touch those things—they’re _disgusting_!”

“You’re . . . you’re so . . . _ugh!_ ” Albus sighed dejectedly.

“I don’t care what you say. I’m _not_ going to touch those things,” Malfoy insisted, disdainfully gesturing at the bucket of Chizpurfles.

“ . . . difficult. That’s the word. You’re so difficult,” Albus decided.

Malfoy just smirked at him.

“Fine, if you don’t want to hold them then . . . then at least help me.” Albus took the entire bucket of Chizpurfles and gave it to Malfoy. The other boy begrudgingly accepted it as Albus led him closer to Devlin and instructed him to stand nearby.

“Do we really have to stand so near it?” Malfoy asked, the concern evident in his voice.

“Just don’t startle it. This way, I won’t need to hold these things for any longer than I have to.”

With an audible gulp, Albus dipped his hand once more into the bucket and extracted one of the skittering creatures. He was only a couple of feet in front of Devlin now, but he found it much harder to actually lean down and set the Chizpurfle on the soil, mostly because of his frazzled nerves. Albus’ joints felt like cement as he set the skittering parasite down. He almost froze on the spot, and seeing one of the tentacles move to retrieve the parasite and nearly brushing the side of his face in the process didn’t help at all. He stood up slowly, eyeing Devlin the entire time.

“Well, that went well. Only a couple more, then?” Malfoy asked, chuckling at Albus’ obvious discomfort.

Albus gave the blonde boy another cross look and an irked grunt. Once more, he went through the arduous task of placing the unnerving, skittering parasite in front of the potentially deadly giant plant. Again, Devlin sent a graceful tentacle to receive the treat. His task finished, Albus sighed in relief.

“That’s it. I’m out!”

“There’s still some more in here. So why stop now? After all, you seem like you’re enjoying yourself,” Malfoy suggested with a mischievous smile. He raised the bucket to Albus’ face. Albus recoiled sharply, and shoved the bucket forcefully back at Malfoy, causing the other boy to almost fall over.

_“H-hey!”_

Albus didn’t look back. He desperately wanted to get to the sink and wash his hands again. And again. And maybe five more times to be sure. Before he could walk very far, though, he heard a sound that stopped him dead in his tracks—it was the metallic clang of a bucket crashing to the floor. A second later, Albus’ heart nearly stopped as he heard a strained scream.

“A—al . . . _help!_ ”

Albus couldn’t have moved faster if he wanted. There was little he could do as he stood helplessly in front of Devlin, who had wrapped one large tentacle around a very shaken and panicked Malfoy, raising him several feet into the air. While it didn’t appear that the tentacle was wrapped tightly enough to be dangerous, Malfoy was still in considerable distress, if not pain, as he struggled against his botanical captor.

_“Oh, god! Scorpius!”_

_“Do something!”_

_“Like what?”_ Albus shouted frantically.

_“Anything!”_

Albus let out a few deep breaths as he attempted to calm himself. He suppressed the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach and focused on a single thought: _Scorpius is in danger. I need to save him. I’m the only one who can_.

He instinctively reached for his wand, but remembered that they hadn’t yet been taught any spells that would help in their current situation. He didn’t even know what spell Neville had used for casting the blue fireball earlier. At the moment, his wand was nothing more than a glorified poking stick.

“What can I use . . . ?” he asked himself frantically. “ _Lumos_? No, it needs fire—I don’t know a fire charm. _Wingardium Leviosa_? What, maybe make something fly and drop it on its head? No, it doesn’t have a head, it’s a plant . . . ”

 _“Gaaahhh!”_ The other two tentacles had started to wrap around most of Malfoy’s body, from his knees to just below his shoulders. He was still trying to put up a struggle, but his legs and arms were already incapacitated to the point where all that he could do was awkwardly squirm. He was getting quite exhausted, both from struggling and from the possibly-deadly vines slowly squeezing him to the point of actual pain.

“Don’t worry, Scorpius! I’ll think of something . . . ”

“I’d very much appreciate it if you could think faster!”

Albus spotted a shovel in a far corner of the room, and he dashed toward it and tried to raise it like a club. This proved very difficult, as the shovel was nearly as tall as he was, and was much heavier than he’d thought. He took position in front of Devlin, across from the vines that were holding Malfoy. He then lifted the shovel and swung it with all his might.

_“Haaaa!”_

Albus’ blow landed hard and made an audible _squelch_. To his delight, he saw the vines wiggle and loosen, if only slightly. The spot that he’d hit also looked as if it had been bruised, and was now sporting a dark, almost purplish hue that contrasted vividly with the pale green of the vine.

“Think you can do that a few more times?” Malfoy asked, his voice still a little strained. The vines were still uncomfortably wrapped around him despite Albus’ efforts.

“Hah . . . hah . . . I don’t think I can . . . ” Albus panted between ragged breaths.

“For the record, this time, it’s _your_ fault, okay?” Malfoy told him, not entirely in jest.

“We need help . . . ” Albus replied, before dashing back toward the main greenhouses.

“Best idea you’ve had all day!” Malfoy called out to Albus as the other boy disappeared out the door.

Shouting was all that Malfoy could do at that point. He was tired to the point of exhaustion, and couldn’t help but sag and let his body relax. Much to his surprise, though, the tentacles slowly-but-surely loosened their grip on him. Instead of being painfully restricted, he now felt like he was merely being carried aloft by a huge creature with no regard for personal space. It was mildly inconvenient at best.

Suddenly, Malfoy heard a faint sound coming from the door that Albus had exited from. It seemed to be a voice. Then it got louder. And louder. Before Malfoy could discern anything else other than it was a boy’s voice—and a rather familiar one at that—Albus burst into the room shouting his lungs out with what Malfoy could only assume was a battlecry. He was also holding a pair of wickedly-sharp shears.

“Albus . . . ? I thought you were going to get help?” Malfoy panicked at Albus’ fiercely determined look, just as anyone might when seeing someone with that sort of expression wielding a lethally sharp object.

“I did! These will help save you!” Albus then raised the shears and lunged at Devlin, making to stab the vines holding Malfoy.

“No, wait! I figured it out—!”

Before Malfoy could finish his protest, the shears sank deep into one of the tentacles, and all at once, Malfoy crashed into a heap on the floor as Devlin released him. The injured tentacle flailed wildly for a few seconds, hitting the glass ceiling and causing a few shards of broken glass to litter the area around it. Albus leaped onto Malfoy, hoping to shield him from the debris, but the other boy forcefully shoved him off.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” bellowed Malfoy.

“I saved you! Some thanks would be nice.” Albus retorted, taken totally aback at unexpected Malfoy’s outburst.

“I thought you were going to get help! Like from a teacher or something!”

“That would’ve taken too long! I needed to save you before you died!”

Malfoy slapped his forehead and angrily snapped, “You idiot! Professor Longbottom himself said that it’s not deadly yet! And I had it under control!”

“No you didn’t!” Albus was very confused with Malfoy now.

“Yes I did! And then you got on top of me, what was that about?” Malfoy demanded.

“I—I was trying to protect you from getting hit by the glass!”

“And who was going to protect you? What if _you_ got hurt?” Malfoy glared at Albus. “Idiot. You didn’t have to play the hero.”

“I wasn’t about to leave you like that,” Albus said defiantly.

“Maybe you should have.”

“Then you’re an idiot for thinking that.”

Both boys stared each other in the eye, a slew of unspoken, conflicting thoughts passing silently between them. Absorbed as they were with trying to think of something to say, they hardly noticed the vines that had crept up to their sides.

With a swift, unyielding force, the vines yanked both boys toward Devlin’s trunk and quickly encased them together in a mass of angry plant sinew and fibre. The way in which the tentacles had gripped and bound them forced Albus and Malfoy into a position where they faced each other far too closely than was decent, with their chests and torsos uncomfortably pressed against each other. It was all that they could do to avoid inadvertently giving each other a very painful headbutt.

“In hindsight, we should have gotten clear of this thing before we began arguing,” Malfoy said as calmly as he could with his chest being squeezed so painfully. Albus, for his part, was still screaming in panic.

“Help! Someone help!” Albus cried while frantically struggling against the vines, but with the vines wrapped so tightly around Malfoy and himself, he only managed to jostle against Malfoy’s body.

“Will you—“ Malfoy struggled to sputter, as Albus’ squirming against him was constricting his chest even further, “—quit it? Stay calm for both our sakes!”

“How am I supposed to keep calm in a situation like this?” Albus demanded in panic.

“Devlin, he makes it tighter—”

Malfoy was beginning to find it difficult to talk—apart from the vines getting tighter and Albus’ incessant wiggling, another part of him was getting extremely uncomfortable. A part of him that he definitely didn’t want to act up right then, given their dire situation and the fact that he was pressed so tightly against Albus. If only Albus didn’t rub against him so much, this never would have happened.

“Devlin gets tighter when you struggle. So keep calm! P—please!”

“That doesn’t make sense! Just keep trying! We can’t give up!” Albus insisted. He used all of his strength to struggle as hard as he could. This had the unintended effect of making his front rub up against Malfoy’s even more firmly than before. It was only then that he felt it. “Scorpius . . . ?”

Instead of replying, Malfoy bumped his forehead against Albus’ own. When he got the other boy’s attention—as well as an angry ‘What was that for?’—he pressed his forehead against Albus’ once more, although gentler this time. Their heads were so close together that even their noses were touching. If either of them wanted to, they could have kissed. That thought seemed to cross both of their minds as their eyes briefly wandered to each others’ lips before awkwardly holding each other’s’ gaze once again. To Malfoy’s relief, Albus also stopped struggling.

“Struggling makes the vines tighter and relaxing makes them loosen up. So calm down . . . and . . . you . . . stop rubbing up on me . . . please. It’s making me feel . . . weird,” Malfoy said in barely a whisper. Albus could hear him only because their heads were so close together.

“Scorpius . . . you’re poking me down there . . . ” Albus couldn’t have blushed even if he’d wanted to. All of the struggling that he’d done and the way the vines had been squeezing them had turned both their faces red. And now, more than ever, he could feel Malfoy poignantly poking him ‘down there’.

“This is your fault—again,” Malfoy quietly declared. “Who _wouldn’t_ get like this? You . . . you were moving around too much!” His calm demeanour belied how flustered he was becoming.

By then, both boys had calmed down enough that the vines eased their grip, if only slightly. Albus gave Malfoy a confused look and said, “I did . . . that?”

“Yes. You. Did.” For reasons known only to him, Malfoy punctuated each word by thrusting his hips at Albus each time, or at least as much as the tight space between them allowed. Malfoy closed his eyes, seemingly unable to bear looking at Albus anymore, his emotions a baffling mix of embarrassment, frustration, worry and confusion.

Albus couldn’t reply. All he knew was that every time that Malfoy’s hardness had brushed against his groin, an indescribable and uncomfortably hot feeling welled up inside his guts—a feeling that found its way to places his innocence had left blissfully untouched until now. Without meaning to, and without understanding it, the sensation manifested itself in a certain part of his young body.

“S—stop! Why are you getting one, too?” Malfoy’s voice was frantic, but his breath was raspy, as though he were choking, completely confounded at the small, stiff mass that was now inadvertently probing his nether regions.

“It’s not like I can _stop_ it!” breathed Albus. He gulped once again as he struggled to maintain eye contact with Malfoy. “For the record . . . this time, it’s _your_ fault.”

An awkward silence filled the air as neither boy could think of anything else to say. Thankfully, it wasn’t but a minute later when a bright blue ball of flame erupted out of nowhere in front of them, causing the plant tentacles to retreat and drop them down onto the floor. They were greeted by the extremely anxious face of their Herbology professor, his hair askew and his eyes wary and terrified.

“Are you all right?” Neville rushed to the two boys, brushing them off with his hands and having them lean on his shoulders as he heaved them into a standing position. “Are you hurt? Any injuries?”

“No . . . we’re okay now, professor,” Malfoy replied calmly, though also somewhat unsteadily. Albus noted that the front of Malfoy’s trousers were unremarkably smooth and flat, and that the tent in his own shorts had receded as well. Apparently, crashing on the floor was a good remedy for that particular problem.

“Thanks for the save, Uncle Nev.”

“You boys . . . ” Neville looked over each of them carefully and shook his head. “At this rate, you’re going to be the death of me.” His eyes then focused on the broken glass on the floor, as well as Devlin’s injured tentacle, which was oozing a garish purple substance. “I told you specifically to _not_ blow up the greenhouses. You didn’t, but it looks as though you tried very hard to do everything short of that.”

“We’re so—”

“We’re sorry, pro—” Both Albus and Malfoy had spoken at the exact same time and startled each other. They glanced at each other, and then said it perfectly in unison.

“We’re sorry, professor.”

Neville sighed. “It can’t be helped, I suppose. At any other time, I’d probably scold your ears off, but right now I’m just glad you’re alive.” He then ruffled each boy’s hair, earning him a scowl from Malfoy.

“We’re done here, so you go on ahead to dinner. Stop by the hospital wing if you need to. If anyone asks, you didn’t just get strangled by a giant plant, understood? I’d really appreciate it if you could leave out that little detail.” Neville gave them both a nervous smile, and then sent them on their way.

Albus and Malfoy walked silently back to the castle, still a bit shaken by their ordeal. After a while, Malfoy abruptly increased his pace, leaving Albus behind him.

“Hey . . . !” Albus thought it rude that Malfoy would just leave him behind like that. He felt that they ought to at least talk about what they’d been through . . . or at the very least, about what had happened when they’d been wrapped together in the vines. But did he really want to discuss something so embarrassing? The awkwardness of the whole affair would be reason enough for Malfoy to never talk to him again. And just when Albus had begun to think they might become friends . . .

“You know . . . ” Malfoy called out to Albus without looking back, and startling the other boy out of his thoughts, “ . . . you were right.”

“About what?”

“Those biscuits _were_ good.”

Malfoy then resumed walking, leaving Albus to his thoughts.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeeah. Sorry for the long hiatus. I've actually finished this at the same time as the other chapters, but it was the last one I had that was ready to post and I wanted to have one other chapter in reserve before I posted this one. So yeah, right now, i'm already working on chapter 8 so i feel it's okay to post this seventh chapter now. 
> 
> (also i kinda lost my job because my company is downsizing and i kinda lost my mojo cuz of it...but anyway)
> 
> (Also sorry for inventing a totally new magical plant. it was supposed to be just a devil's snare but i didnt know what those ate :p)
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter was especially difficult for me because I finally introduce hints of NSFW elements in it. As you know, I'm trying very hard to mimic the tone of the actual Harry Potter books. And as JK Rowling's writing style isn't exactly a very good fit with sex stuff, introducing them in my story was a challenge. So I hope you don't mind how i wrote it here.
> 
> By the next chapter, things will go full blown sexy town >< may dumbledore bless my soul.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading my fic, and I do hope you'll enjoy it as we move along!
> 
> One thing I would like to encourage you all to do is to comment on this story especially if you see errors, typos or grammar mistakes! I just hate those! So please gimme a heads up if you see them! Also, I'd appreciate feedback on the story, and if you wanna see more stuff from me.


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